


Pinky Promise

by TurtleTotem



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: 1990s, Adopted Children, Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Childhood Friends, Christmas, Coma, F/F, Foster Care, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired By While You Were Sleeping (1995), Rom-com, curious lack of homophobia for the 90s, side pairings: seamista scorfuma glimbow entrapdak
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 44,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27850726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleTotem/pseuds/TurtleTotem
Summary: Catra's not in love with her dead-end job as a train token attendant - but she might be in love with the pretty blonde who passes her booth every day. On Christmas Day, the pretty blonde falls onto the tracks, and Catra saves her life. But at the ER, no one will tell Catra anything about the comatose girl's condition because she’s not family.So she tells the nurse they’re engaged.And the next thing she knows, the blonde’s actual distraught family - Angella, Micah and their half-dozen daughters - has swept in and adopted her as one of their own. How can she tell the truth now?Especially when the last daughter finally makes it home, and it’s the last person Catra could ever have expected: Adora. The foster sister Catra never stopped loving, and never forgave for leaving her behind.(Based on the 1990s romcomWhile You Were Sleeping.)
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 545
Kudos: 521





	1. Prologue

Catra could have turned on the light, but that might attract Ms. Weaver's attention through the cracked-open door. She sat in the dark instead, on the bottom bunk—Adora's bunk—with her legs curled up against her chest, trying not to cry even though her cheek really hurt and her stomach was growling.

She could see Ms. Weaver and Adora just outside the door; Adora had almost made it into the bedroom before their foster mother grabbed her arm. Catra held her breath, listening.

"You are far too old for this kind of behavior," Ms. Weaver was saying. Adora was nine, while Catra was still eight. "I don't expect any better from Catra, but you?"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Weaver," Adora whispered, keeping her head down. "I told you, it wasn't Catra's fault, it was my idea to go look at your jewelry—"

That wasn't really true. They'd pretty much had the idea together.

"Then she's once again being a bad influence on you," Ms. Weaver snapped. "If you can't keep her under control, I will send Catra away. I've only kept her around this long because _you're_ so fond of her. Social Services has tried to move her already. Do you want me to call them and say they can take her now?"

"No! Please, please don't!"

"Then stop letting her distract you. She's getting you in trouble at school, affecting your grades—"

"No, that was just one time!"

"Don't interrupt me, Adora." Ms. Weaver's voice was grim, and Catra froze instinctively, even knowing their foster mother wasn't talking to her this time. Adora froze too, looking down again.

Ms. Weaver sighed, and her voice softened. "Adora, you have far too much _potential_ to let someone like Catra lead you off your path. You understand that, right? I'm not saying any of this to be mean, I'm trying to help you. I'd love to help Catra, too, if she would let me."

Adora nodded. Ms. Weaver smiled and stroked Adora's hair back. Catra couldn't see Adora's face, but saw the way she shrank back a little from the touch. What was Adora so worried about? Ms. Weaver would never hit _her._

"All right, off to bed," Ms. Weaver sighed, and Adora ducked into the bedroom and closed the door.

"Catra?" she called softly.

"I'm here."

Adora turned on the lamp and crawled up next to Catra on the bed. "Oh, Catra, your face looks bad…"

Catra touched her cheek and winced. It hadn't bled much, but it was throbbing so hard, she knew it was going to turn all purple, if it hadn't already.

"Want me to kiss it?" Adora said.

"No, that's stupid," Catra said, and was immediately sorry she'd said no. She could have gotten a kiss.

"Bedtime!" called Ms. Weaver's voice from the living room, followed by groans and footsteps moving toward the bathroom. The boys, Kyle and Rogelio, had their own room, but Lonnie slept in the other bunkbed in this room; she'd be here soon.

"Better hurry and eat this," Adora whispered, pulling a granola bar out of her pocket. "I got the chocolate chip kind!"

"The best ones!" Catra shoved as much into her mouth as she could. No one could take away food she'd already swallowed. "How'd you ge'it? D'anyone see?"

"I grabbed it from the pantry while we were doing dishes. Kyle saw, but he won't say anything."

Kyle, good; Lonnie would have snitched. Rogelio, well, he only spoke Spanish and nobody else here spoke any Spanish.

Adora, of course, had been permitted to eat dinner, even though she was in Ms. Weaver's room playing with her jewelry, too. Everything was always Catra's fault. Sometimes Catra felt like her whole body would burn up with anger at how unfair it was, and other times she just wondered what was wrong with her, why she couldn't do anything right no matter how hard she tried.

Adora was still looking at Catra's cheek, licking her finger to wipe off some of the dry blood.

"She didn't mean to knock you down, you know," Adora said hesitantly. "You should have just let go when she tried to take the necklace. Why didn't you let go?"

"I don't know." She really didn't. Just tired of having things taken away from her, maybe. But in snatching it out of her grip, Ms. Weaver had knocked her down, and she'd hit her cheek on the heel of a shoe, and Ms. Weaver said she deserved worse. And Adora could sit there and say Ms. Weaver didn't mean to, because she hadn't seen their foster mother raising her hand—didn't see because she was already darting between them, keeping her tense hunched shoulders between Catra and Ms. Weaver, helping Catra get up and wipe her face.

Catra swallowed the last of the granola bar, and wished Adora had brought her some water. But she could probably sneak to the bathroom for water after Ms. Weaver went to bed.

"The kids at school are gonna laugh at my face," Catra said dully. "They always find something to pick on me about."

"Oh, please, please don't get in any more fights!" Adora begged. Her expression went mulish. "If someone's picking on you, come get me, _I'll_ fight them."

She could do it, too. Everyone knew Adora was strong and fast. She was the best at everything in P.E. She was the best at everything, period. "Then you'll get in trouble," Catra pointed out.

"I don't care!"

"How can you not care?" Sometimes Catra thought she would give anything to go just one day without getting in trouble. Other days she just thought she might as well do what she wanted, since she was going to get in trouble no matter what.

"Because I love you, Catra." Adora put an arm around her shoulders; Catra leaned into it. "And that means I take care of you. You love me, right?"

"Yes." Catra loved Adora more than anyone in the world. She might be the only person Catra loved at all. "And I'll take care of you, too." Someday, someday she'd be strong enough to do something…

"There, see?" Adora said. "We'll take care of each other, no matter what they do at school or what Ms. Weaver does, and everything will be okay. Nothing really bad can happen as long as we're together."

Catra didn't know why her eyes got all teary at that. Maybe just at the idea that maybe everything _could_ be okay. "Pinky promise?"

"Pinky promise." They hooked their pinky fingers together.

Lonnie came in then—and sneered at Catra, but didn't say anything because Adora was there—and started changing into her pajamas. Adora and Catra just got under the covers in their clothes, turned on their sides so there was room for both of them on the pillow. Catra had to face away from Adora so she wasn't laying on her hurt cheek, but she could feel Adora's warmth against her back. She curled her hands against her chest, like the pinky promise was a stuffed animal she could hold, and went to sleep even though her stomach was still growling.


	2. Seventeen Years Later

"So that's her?"

Catra jumped; she hadn't even heard her boss come into the booth behind her, too busy watching the _her_ in question—the bubbly blonde with the rainbow flag pin, the one she watched for every day, the one she secretly thought of as Princess Charming—as she hurried onto her train.

"Yeah, that's gotta be her," Scorpia answered her own question, leaning over Catra's shoulder to look where she was looking. "You've always had a thing for blondes. Buff ones, usually. Does she have ox-lifters like these?" Scorpia flexed her own very impressive biceps.

Catra shoved Scorpia wearily off her shoulder. "She's more yoga-toned. Lay off, will you?" It was awkward being reminded that Scorpia was very much her type (buff, for sure, though she wasn't so much blonde as prematurely white) and that they'd gone on two clumsy dates before deciding they were better as friends.

All of that long over and done with, of course, before Scorpia was promoted over her at the Chicago Transit Authority, and that was for the best. Scorpia was annoying enough as a friend, she'd have driven Catra batty as a romantic partner. And Catra… Catra would have been a terrible partner in turn. Scorpia deserved better.

"And you still don't know her name?" Scorpia asked.

"What, I'm supposed to just ask her? 'Hi, I'm the random stranger who takes your train token, would you like to be late for work and hold up the line because I want to chat you up?' Yeah, no."

"You're right, it's much healthier to just moon over her from afar, watching her every move while she has no idea you're alive."

Catra wasn't _mooning_. She was just watching through the train window as Princess Charming popped out of her seat to offer it to a grateful woman with a toddler. As the train pulled away, Catra craned her head for one last glimpse of Princess Charming distracting the toddler, cheerfully letting him tug on one of the flower barrettes in her long pale hair.

She should never have mentioned Princess Charming to Scorpia. It really wasn't a stalkery obsession like Scorpia teased her about. It was just… a daydream. A fantasy of having a sweet, decent person look at her and smile, see something in her worth looking at—a fantasy of going home to that kind of warm welcome, instead of a dark living room and a cat, of waking up next to someone who thought she was worth sticking around for.

Everyone daydreamed about things they'd never have.

"Earth to Catra." Scorpia shook her shoulder. "Look, it's time for your lunch break. Let me get you a hot dog, I want to tell you something. Hey, why are you groaning?!"

"Because I know you, and I know it's some kind of bad news."

"Stop being such a pessimist! Come on!"

"I knew it was bad news."

"Catra, you're CTA employee of the year! How is that bad news? Listen, listen to what it says—'Catra Weaver is dedicated, reliable, and a creative problem-solver. She is always willing to take extra shifts and work holidays,'" Scorpia's smile became a pleading sort of wince, "'even if she has worked the previous holiday…?'"

"Scorpia," Catra said, "I am not working Christmas this year." Hot dog in hand, she stalked off down the sidewalk, leaving Scorpia to pay at the cart and play catch-up.

"It's a great honor, Catra!" Scorpia called after her, struggling to fight through the crowd. "You get the best parking spot—"

"I don't have a car."

"—you get a certificate signed by the mayor—"

_"That_ jerk." Catra snarled, picking sauerkraut that she absolutely had not ordered out of her hot dog.

"—you get to ride in a float on St. Paddy's Day—"

"I hate parades."

"Did I mention the extra holiday pay?"

"I hate _you_."

"Awww, wildcat…"

Catra stopped and spun around. "This isn't fair and you know it!"

Scorpia, only a step away now, sighed and looked away, shoulders drooping. "I know. You're right. But Violet, it's her son's first Christmas, and Celeste has some family thing, and I _swore_ to my moms I'd come home this year… It's not fair, and I can't make you do it. But Catra, you're the only one…"

"Without any family," Catra said dully. She tossed the nasty hot dog in the nearest trash can and snatched the certificate out of Scorpia's hands. "Fine. Whatever."

It wasn't like she had anywhere better to be on Christmas Day than a booth at the L station.

***

Catra's Christmas tree had been sitting bare in her living room for a week, waiting for her to have the time and energy to decorate it. Finally, after work on Christmas Eve, she turned the radio to a Christmas station and started hanging ornaments.

The Christmas tree at Ms. Weaver's had always been a rich, multilayered display, children's homemade ornaments and '80s cartoon figurines and big, fancy, fragile things Ms. Weaver bought—heaven help you if you broke one of those. But on the whole Ms. Weaver was more mellow around Christmas, more likely to let things slide. Ms. Weaver enjoyed the pomp and circumstance of the holiday, Catra thought. Traditions and treats, predictable and satisfying, everything just so.

Catra's tree was small, and decorated with cheap generic-looking baubles bought bit by bit over the last… seven years. Had it really been _seven years_ since she turned eighteen and climbed out Ms. Weaver's window at midnight with a duffel bag?

Melog mewed, winding between her ankles, and Catra realized she'd been standing with a sparkly plastic star in her hand for several minutes, staring into space.

"Right. Thanks." She hung the star, and scooped up Melog, bumping her forehead against his fuzzy grey one. He purred in her arms, a sensation she found almost unbearably comforting. "My sweet baby. You always know what to say."

_Knock knock knock._

Catra started, nearly dropping Melog. Grumbling, she set the cat down on the couch and opened the door.

Just as she'd feared. It was Sea Hawk.

"There you are, my delicate oyster!"

"Yes, here I am," Catra said flatly, "in my own apartment of three-plus years. What a surprise."

Sea Hawk laughed heartily. "Such humor! One of the many things about you that I adore, my salty ocean pearl." He smoothly dodged her attempt to block the doorway, eeling his way into the apartment. "I _knew_ that was the Chipmunks I was hearing! Not what I expected. Like the sea, you have such unexplored depths."

"I don't control what plays on the radio. What do you want, Sea Hawk?"

"Only to deliver this." With a flourish he presented a small green-wrapped box, dwarfed by a great spangly bow. "Merry Christmas!"

Catra gritted her teeth. "I didn't get you anything."

"One does not purchase gifts with the expectation of reciprocation, dearest wavelet! It is but a token of mine affection, which I hope will prove to you the strength of my regard."

Oh, she didn't doubt the strength of his regard, which thus far had withstood six months of flat refusals. His regard was strong, and persistent, and utterly unwelcome. Catra itched to tell him to _eff off already_ , that she wouldn't like him even if she were straight, which she profoundly was not, and that if he ever knocked on her door again she'd kick his teeth in. But Sea Hawk's irascible conservative father owned the building, and Catra couldn't afford to get evicted, and so she didn't quite dare. That lack of courage rankled as much as the unwelcome attentions themselves, and she hated Sea Hawk all the more for making her feel like a coward.

"Go ahead, open it!" Sea Hawk urged her, fairly dancing with excitement.

Grimacing, she did, and revealed… a ring. A tacky, glittery ring with a seashell in place of a stone.

"It made me think of you the moment I saw it," Sea Hawk crowed.

"And where did you see it, a gas station?"

Sea Hawk opened and closed his mouth a couple times. "The details are hardly relevant! It is a treasure discovered on one of my dramatic voyages…" Sea Hawk was an ardent sailing hobbyist and occasional skipper-for-hire, though most of his income was mooched off his father.

"Thank you," Catra said shortly, and opened the door wider. She'd never entirely shut it. "Goodnight now."

"Oh, well, I was wondering if—that is, there's this lovely new place down the block—"

Catra nudged him out, and closed the door in his still-talking face. And locked it.

Melog had not bestirred himself from the couch while Sea Hawk was there, only glaring and growling under his breath. The fact that he'd never made a move to actually attack Sea Hawk was one reason Catra considered the man a nuisance rather than a threat. Melog was an excellent judge of character. Now the great pile of grey fluff rolled over with a burbling sound and began grooming a back leg.

Catra sneered down at the ring in her hand. Sea Hawk hadn't even made a decent guess at her size, a ring this small _might_ have fit her pinky—

_"Pinky promise, remember?" Tearing the paper and opening the box to find matching pinky rings, each one a thin gold line curlicueing into a heart at the top._

And a year and a day later, Catra's throat aching as she screamed that she was better off without Adora anyway. Yanking her ring off and flinging it in the face of the person she loved and hated most in the world.

_"Merry Christmas, darling,"_ sang Karen Carpenter's gorgeously mournful voice from the radio speakers. _"We're apart, that's true/But I can dream and in my dreams/I'm Christmasing with you."_

Catra switched the radio off so hard she felt something crack under her hand, and slammed the seashell ring into the trash.

***

Christmas morning found Adora behind the wheel of the Queen & Family Estate Sales moving truck, only halfway home from Peoria. She'd gotten the Himmelstein account, but at the price of missing out on Van Allen; her dad was going to be disappointed, and Adora _hated_ disappointing her parents. Her father Micah was an old hand at the business, and charming to boot; he would have gotten both estates with time to spare. But Adora had all the social dexterity of oatmeal—and the luck of a broken mirror. After closing the Himmelstein deal yesterday, she'd tried to set out for Chicago, only to find the truck wouldn't start.

Now, one fresh battery later, she was finally on her way home.

"Merry Christmas to me," she muttered, squinting against the rising sun, and trying to decide if turning the radio to a Christmas station would make her feel better or worse. At home, her youngest sister Frosta would probably be waking everyone up as obnoxiously as possible, Glimmer and Mermista groaning and pulling pillows over their heads while Entrapta—supposedly the oldest and most mature—joined in with Frosta's antics. Adora hated missing it, and hated for her parents to have another missing daughter on Christmas morning. Maybe Perfuma would call today, let them know she was alive even if she wasn't ready to come home yet.

Adora couldn't begin to understand leaving her family—her _family_ , the people who loved her, the family she'd dreamed of and longed for and prayed to find for so long—for something as nebulous as 'finding herself.' But everything Perfuma did was nebulous and a little strange. Oh well; Adora didn't have to always understand Perfuma to love her. That was one of the best things about being part of the Queen family. They were there for each other even if they were angry or annoyed or didn't understand. Adora had surely used up all her luck finding them.

Not that it was _all_ luck. She'd found Glimmer and Bow at Bright Moon Academy, befriended and eventually been adopted by Glimmer's family, because she'd put in the effort to be the best of the best on the school soccer team. She'd impressed the right talent scout, and been offered a scholarship, and escaped the hell-pit that was Ms. Weaver's foster home.

All she'd been able to take with her was a duffel bag of clothes and personal effects. And all the while she was packing, she'd wanted to leave every bit of it behind, and stuff Catra in the bag instead.

Adora took a deep breath and tried to return her focus to the road. She was feeling down enough right now without letting her thoughts wander to Catra.

It was always harder not to think about her around Christmas. Christmas Day ten years ago—exactly ten years ago—was the last good day they'd had together, before Catra found out she was leaving. And like the flip of a switch, Catra went from being her best friend (inadequate phrase; her other half, her twin soul) to being her worst enemy. Acting almost like she wasn't Adora at all anymore, but maybe the person who'd killed Adora.

_"I promise I'll call every day! Maybe we can visit each other—"_

_"Get out! If you want to leave, just leave!"_

_"Seriously, Catra, you can't be even a_ little bit _happy for me?" She'd started to cry then, despite all her best efforts. "You think I'm not going to miss you?"_

_"Don't bother," Catra had said, and slammed the bedroom door in her face._

Every year when the phone book landed on their doorstep, Adora checked the White Pages for Catra Weaver, even though it meant seeing their foster mother's name and number there instead. Catra was never listed. Maybe she'd left Chicago. Maybe she'd been adopted, changed her name. Adora hoped that once she left, maybe Ms. Weaver had let Social Services take Catra somewhere else, like she'd threatened so often. Maybe Catra had escaped.

Maybe she'd died. Adora might never know.

In the midst of those cheerful thoughts, the truck's engine rumbled, sputtered, and went silent.

Shouting words that would have shamed her mother, Adora pulled over. Safely situated on the shoulder, she buried her face in her hands for a moment, then scrubbed her hands through her hair, pulling down and re-doing her ponytail.

_Yep,_ she thought. _Used up all my luck finding the Queens. At least it was worth it._

She reached for the car phone. Micah was a big fan of technology; Angella just rolled her eyes and called it sorcery, but she couldn't argue about the wisdom of having a way to call for help if, say… the car broke down. Adora pulled the Roadside Assistance number out of the glove compartment, called, then sagged back in the driver's seat to wait, wondering just how cold it would get inside the truck before help arrived.

The car phone rang. Only family had the number. Had her mom somehow known Adora was in trouble and was checking on her?

But when Adora picked up the phone, the voice was far too quick, agitated and abrasive to be Angella's.

"Whoa, whoa, Entrapta, slow down! Perfuma's _what_?"


	3. Chapter 3

_I'll be home for Christmas_

_You can plan on me_

_Please have snow and mistletoe_

_And presents on a tree…_

Catra's coworker Celeste had left her stereo in the booth with a pile of Christmas CDs, probably out of guilt for worming her way out of working. Catra could turn it up as loud as she wanted today; there was no one around to complain. She'd been on duty for over an hour, huddled in her coat with the rising sun gleaming on the train tracks, and collected only six tokens—two workaholics with briefcases, and an excited young family on their way to see grandma. Catra had the tokens arranged in a zig-zag on her countertop; maybe by the end of the day she'd have a full Christmas tree.

A token rattled into the collector. "Good morning!"

Caught up in feeling sorry for herself, it took Catra a moment to look up at the source of the chirpy voice.

It was Princess Charming.

"Merry Christmas!" She was smiling and rosy-cheeked, with poinsettias in her hair and reindeer on her scarf.

"Uh-huh," Catra managed, more of a mangled noise than a word, but Princess Charming was already walking off, prancing down the platform to wait for her train.

Catra wanted to set herself on _fire_.

_Merry Christmas to you, too! You're beautiful! I love you! Will you marry me?_

She'd spoken to her, the girl had finally spoken to her and all that had come out of Catra's mouth was a sound like a startled cow. Could anything about this day get worse? She put her head down on her arms.

Then raised it again, frowning at the sound of agitated voices. One of them definitely Princess Charming's.

She stood up and leaned to look down the platform. Three young-ish guys were standing way too close around Princess Charming. One of them was pulling on her purse.

"Leave me alone!" the girl snapped, pulling it back.

One man tried to snatch the purse, another tried to pull the girl in the other direction, she tried to spin away from them—and stumbled off the edge of the platform with a scream that ended very suddenly.

Catra burst out of the booth, feet pounding along the platform. The men were already running the other direction, cursing, panicked. Princess Charming's purse lay spilled across the platform, marking the place where she'd fallen.

Catra skidded to a stop at the edge. "Miss! Miss! Are you okay?"

The girl lay on her back, hair splayed out in a pale wave. Safely away from the third rail, thank God, but her eyes were closed and she wasn't moving. There was blood on her forehead.

"Miss! Can you hear me?"

And then a sound that chilled Catra's blood—the blaring horn of an oncoming train.

Catra stared at the train for a precious second, knowing it couldn't possibly stop in time. Then she jumped down onto the tracks next to the girl. "Miss! Wake up, you have to wake up!" It surely wasn't safe to move her—

The train blared again, somehow sounding as terrified as the engineer had to be feeling. Catra was strong for her size, but she couldn't possibly pick up this full grown woman and carry her away, not in the next _five seconds_ —

She dropped down on top of the girl, wrapped her arms around her, and pulled, rolling off the tracks into the little space under the lip of the platform.

She might have screamed, as the train blasted past, loud and fast as a tornado. The wind of its passing blew their mingled hair all over their faces, but it didn't touch them. It didn't touch them.

Then it was gone, and slowly Catra opened her eyes. She was on top of Princess Charming, who smelled like some kind of amazing sweet floral perfume, not that this was an appropriate time to notice that.

Her eyes were open, Catra realized with a start. For just a second, Princess Charming looked at her, glassy and confused.

"Hey," Catra whispered, instinctively stroking her hair from her face. "You're gonna be okay."

"Okay," Princess Charming breathed, and passed back out.

***

The EMTs let Catra ride with them to the hospital, but once she was there, no one wanted to tell her anything.

"I'm here for the woman that was just brought in, the one who fell on the tracks—"

"What's her name?" asked the woman at the front desk.

"I—I don't know—"

"You don't know her name?"

"Her—it's her right there!" Across the room and through a clear plastic door, Catra could see Princess Charming on a gurney surrounded by medical staff. As if drawn by a magnet, she crossed to the door and opened it.

"Whoa! You can't be in here," said one man—a doctor?

"I just want to know if she's okay!"

"Are you family?" the doctor snapped.

"Well, no, but—"

"It's family only. Go back to the waiting room." He closed the door, and the gurney moved off.

Catra's temper sparked, and words spilled out of her toward the uncaring door. "Yeah, I mean, future wife here, but sure, don't tell _me_ anything!"

She stomped back to the arrangement of seats where a half dozen other people waited, either for word of their loved ones or for medical attention themselves. Unable to settle into a chair, she paced, thoughts whirling. She'd left her station unattended. Should she try to call Scorpia? What had happened to Princess Charming's purse? Hadn't she put it inside the ambulance? Had the EMTs brought it inside?

Her skin was still buzzing with adrenaline. She couldn't believe she'd jumped onto the tracks like that. She'd actually saved someone's life. Not just someone—her crush, her princess. Who would have ever thought Catra would do even one good and important thing like that, in her whole life? Not Ms. Weaver, that was for sure. Catra had never believed in fate or destiny but maybe—maybe this was a sign that she and Princess Charming were meant to be together? Surely it had to mean something, that Catra was the one to save her life…

She finally sank down into a chair, absently chewing a black-painted nail. It was just a silly daydream, but… maybe when Princess Charming got out of the hospital, she would want to take Catra out for dinner to thank her. And maybe they would hit it off—Catra _knew_ they would—she already knew she would love her Princess Charming's sweetness and good cheer, and… well, it was hard to imagine what Princess Charming would see in Catra, but maybe there would be something. Catra could be funny sometimes. And loyal, she would be the most loyal wife in the world…

"Miss?"

Catra looked up, startled by how much the sun outside the windows had moved; mid-morning now. In front of her was a man in a nurse's uniform, his hair dyed a riot of rainbow colors. His name badge said W. Swift.

"Miss, I heard you say earlier that that patient—Miss Queen—is your fiancee. Has anyone been keeping you updated?"

Whoops, she hadn't meant anyone to hear that. But she wasn't going to turn down the opportunity for an update. "No, nobody's told me anything."

"Miss Queen is out of surgery now. I can take you to her."

Miss Queen. Of course. Even better than a princess. "Um, yes, please take me to her."

Nurse Swift led her down hallways, glancing around surreptitiously and generally acting so suspicious that Catra started to wonder if he was even a real nurse. Had he escaped from the psych ward or something? But no one stopped them, and eventually he ushered her into a room where Princess Charming—Miss Queen—lay with her eyes closed and a small bandage on her forehead.

"Let her hear your voice," Nurse Swift murmured. "Sometimes that helps." Then he ducked out of the room and waited outside the door, as if standing guard.

_Helps with what?_ Catra couldn't imagine her voice would mean anything to Miss Queen. All the same, it seemed only polite to say something.

"Hey," she murmured, touching the back of Miss Queen's hand. "Hey there, princess. Um. The doctors are gonna take care of you, everything's gonna be fine." Nurse Swift was looking over his shoulder at them; at the sight of Catra touching the girl's hand, he smiled the way people do at unbearably cute puppies. Right, because they were engaged, she and—Catra stole a quick look at the clipboard hanging by the bed. Perfuma. Perfuma Queen. What a perfect name for her.

A police officer had joined Nurse Swift outside the door. Catra could just make out their voices.

"Is that the woman who saved her life?"

"Yeah, it gets even better than that," Nurse Swift said. "She's her fiancee!"

The police officer made the same _awww wow_ expression the nurse had. Oh boy. This semi-accidental lie was already gaining more traction than she'd ever intended.

"Miss," the officer said, stepping into the room, "I'm sorry to intrude, but I need to ask you some questions about what happened."

"Yeah, of course," Catra said. Maybe they could identify the goons who'd done this and throw the book at them—

"We'll deal with your sign-in sheets later, I want to see my daughter!" bellowed a man's distraught voice outside, joined by a chaotic babble of other voices and footsteps and protesting nurses, and in the space of a breath Princess— _Perfuma's_ room was overflowing with people.

The owner of the loud voice was a stocky Asian man with grey-streaked hair, clutching the hand of a tall, elegant strawberry-blonde white woman. They looked the right age to be Perfuma's parents. The rest of the group seemed closer to Catra's age, mostly girls, one much younger and crying.

The Queen family, Catra gathered, had arrived.

Catra tried to inch around the edge of the room toward the door as the family descended on Perfuma in her bed, various members clutching Perfuma's hands and stroking her hair, making loud observations about her condition and asking frantic questions no one could answer.

"Is Perfuma gonna die?" wailed the youngest girl, who looked to be ten or twelve.

"Why isn't she waking up?" cried one of the older ones.

"She's in a coma." The doctor trundling into the room looked something like an owl, round and bespectacled, and very accustomed to these situations.

"A coma?"

_"Is she gonna die?"_

"Quiet, everyone," snapped the one Catra had pegged as the mother. Her voice was cool, precise and very British. "Let the doctor speak. Please continue, sir."

"Perfuma sustained a head injury when she fell and is currently in a coma," the doctor restated. "However, all her vitals are good, her brainwaves are strong, there is currently no reason not to believe she will wake up in good time. It is impossible to say exactly when, or what the long-term effects might be."

"What happened?" "How did this happen?" At least two people spoke at once; the mother wasn't one of them, as she had turned to block one fascinated—sister?—from fiddling with the heart monitor.

The police officer looked at Catra; apparently it was her line now. She cleared her throat. "Perfuma, um, she was mugged at the train station and fell off the platform."

Eight pairs of eyes turned toward her in sudden, unnerving silence.

"Uhhh, who's she?" asked one girl who looked maybe Southeast Asian.

"She's Perfuma's fiancee," Nurse Swift said, looking confused that the family didn't know this already. As well he might.

"Perfuma has a fiancee?"

"Perfuma's _engaged?"_

"She couldn't call to tell us _that?"_

"In six months she couldn't mention to her _mother_ —"

"Okay," Catra said, holding up her hands, "look, there's been—"

"Doctor, she's not supposed to be in here!" hissed a younger man—the one who had put her off in the waiting room—storming up to the owlish doctor.

"Lay off, pal," said the police officer. "She saved the lady's life."

"Is that true?" It was one of the sisters who'd spoken this time, strawberry-blonde like the mother, tearfully holding Perfuma's hand while a young black man held her around the shoulders. "You saved my sister's life?"

"Well… yes, but…"

"I thought she fell?" the father asked.

"This young lady jumped onto the tracks," the officer said, "and pulled her away from an oncoming train."

"But it's family only in this unit," said the younger doctor uncertainly.

"She is family," said the mother and father in perfect unison, and before Catra knew it, she was being enveloped in the biggest—perhaps only—group hug of her life.


	4. Chapter 4

They ended up gathered in a waiting area—more comfortable than the main one at the entrance—while Perfuma was wheeled away for some kind of testing.

"I'm sorry we didn't know about you, Catra," said Perfuma's mother. "We haven't heard from Perfuma in months… I suppose you know that already. Oh, honey, are you all right? Of course you're not. Micah, hand me my purse. Here, darling."

Catra took the tissue Perfuma's mother offered and wiped shakily at her eyes. She had no idea what was wrong with her. She'd started crying during the hug, for no reason at all, and she couldn't seem to stop, though she'd kept it quiet and unnoticed until now.

"That's a Chicago Transit Authority uniform you've got on, isn't it? You work at the train station?" said the father—Micah?—and Catra gulped, certain the jig was up, but he continued. "Poor thing, having to work Christmas. Perfuma must have come to see you at work?"

"Y-yeah," Catra managed, as that much was true, after a fashion.

"I hope they find those muggers," growled the strawberry-blonde sister, "and they spend all of Christmas Day trying to get bail money. And hit their heads when they're being put in the police car. And get a cell with a backed-up toilet."

"Hear, hear." Catra smiled through her stupid, inexplicable tears. This was a girl after her own heart.

She was getting a better look at the family, now that they were all sitting in a circle on beige hospital furniture. Two parents, four sisters and one brother-in-law, she judged, plus a grandmother she hadn't noticed before, hunched and bespectacled, with a dreamy expression. Hardly anyone looked alike at all, except Glimmer, who had her mother's hair and a strong facial resemblance to her father. Catra had already known Perfuma was adopted—she had an interlocked heart-and-triangle tattoo on her wrist. Safe to assume she wasn't the only one.

"If the police don't find them," said the youngest sister, expression mulish and belligerent even as she sniffled in the lap of an older girl, "I say we go hunt them down ourselves, and beat 'em into a fine paste. Like Robocop."

"And who exactly," said the mother, "let you watch Robocop?" She side-eyed her husband, who gave a wide, sheepish smile.

One of the sisters—wearing pigtails and overalls, the one the mother had had to pull away from Perfuma's monitors—was across the room at a payphone, her voice steadily rising in excitement.

"Entrapta, geez, volume down!" called the Southeast Asian sister. "Who are you even talking to?"

"Adora! Nobody called Adora!"

"Oh, blast!" The mother got up and crossed the room to take the phone from Entrapta and speak into it.

Catra's heart seized at the name Adora, and wasn't _that_ the last thing she needed. She bottled her reaction down ruthlessly. Lots of people in the world were named Adora; she'd even had a coworker named Adora last year, and learned to deal with it, though she'd never actually managed to call her by name.

"Yes, incredibly this isn't all of us," Micah said fondly, misinterpreting Catra's doubtless-overwhelmed expression. "But Adora's the last one you haven't met. Sheesh, we haven't actually introduced anyone, have we? I'm Perfuma's father, Micah Queen, that's my wife Angella, Entrapta's on the phone, and starting on that end we have Mermista, Frosta, Glimmer, Bow—he's Glimmer's fiance—and my grandmother, Razz."

Everyone waved as their name was called. Razz smiled broadly and leaned forward to take Catra's hand in both her wrinkled ones.

"It's so good to see you again, dearie," she said in a creaky bird-like voice. "We've all missed you since you went off into space."

"Ah, sorry about that," Micah said with an affectionate grimace. "She has dementia. We wouldn't normally have brought her out in such a chaotic situation, but there wasn't anyone to leave her with in all the rush."

"Love will save the universe, you know," Razz said serenely. "Gay love, specifically. I always thought that was a nice touch."

Catra blinked. "Uh, yeah, I completely agree."

"We meant what we said before, Catra," Micah said. "Just in case that wasn't clear. You're family now. You're one of our girls."

Angella had rejoined the group, leaving Entrapta to conduct what looked like a thorough investigation of the payphone mechanism. "Perfuma's very special to us," she said, laying a hand on Catra's shoulder. "We always hoped she would find someone who appreciated her, deserved her." Her voice tightened, her eyes going shiny. "We're so glad she found you."

Catra hoped her smile didn't look as queasy as it felt.

Angella started updating the rest of the family about final-sister-Adora's situation, and Catra slipped out to the bathroom.

"This is insane," she said to the girl in the mirror. "What you're doing is insane."

The mirror stared back, showing her a 25-year-old who looked older and younger than that at the same time, with mismatched eyes and freckles, a battered coat thrown over an unflattering uniform, her face smudged with dirt—had that happened during the rolling-on-the-ground part of things? Dark hair even wilder than usual despite the headband she wore to keep it out of her eyes. She'd lost an earring somewhere; the one big hoop that remained looked ridiculous now, lopsided. She didn't look like the love of anyone's life, that was for sure.

She took the earring off, washed her face, did what she could with her hair. But looking better didn't change what she was, and wasn't.

_I'm going to go back out there, and I'm going to tell them the truth. I'm going to tell them I'm not engaged to Perfuma. I've never even actually spoken to her._

And then everyone's warm, welcoming expressions would melt into confusion and horror, they'd throw her out like the lying piece of trash she was, and they'd never let her come near Perfuma again.

Dammit, she really didn't want to do this. But she had to, didn't she? She couldn't just go on pretending to be engaged to these people's daughter. It would only get worse the longer she put it off.

It had been nice, just for a few minutes, being someone else. Someone heroic, someone loved. But it wasn't the truth.

When she left the bathroom, she nearly ran into Nurse Swift.

"Oh, hey," he said. "I saw you go in there, like, forever ago, and I was getting worried you hadn't come out. Your fiancee is back from the MRI—"

"She's not my fiancee," Catra said. Snapped, really, because she hated having to say it.

"What? But… but you said…"

"I know! But I was just… talking to myself." Geez, there really was no rational explanation for what she'd done, was there?

Nurse Swift's face had gone pale, probably because he was perceiving the depth of the hole she was in, with his unwitting help. "Next time you talk to yourself," he said, voice slowly rising in pitch, "maybe remind yourself you're single, and _end the conversation?"_

"Well, it's too late for that now!"

"She's in a _coma_. What are you going to _do?_ "

"I don't know!"

"Hey, nurse?" It was Bow, an _actual_ Queen family fiance. Catra thought she might literally swallow her own tongue, but— "Is there a pharmacy in the hospital?" Bow continued, perfectly normally, not at all like someone who might have overheard a bombshell.

"Um, yeah, it's not like a normal pharmacy, though," Nurse Swift said, with an admirable minimum of stumbling. "What do you need?"

"Well, it's Granny Razz. We just realized she's out of nitroglycerin, and if she ever figures out what's actually happening, she might need it in a hurry. She's had three heart attacks in the last few years." Bow turned to Catra and took her hand between both of his. "You probably saved her life, today, as well as Perfuma's; the shock would have been the end of her. Probably saved the whole family, really. We never would have been the same after losing Perfuma—especially like this, with no chance to ever set things right." He wiped his eyes, looking embarrassed at the necessity, and gave a nervous laugh. "If we can just get through this without any more surprises, maybe we'll be okay. Anything else goes wrong, we might just all fall apart."

"I'll send a doctor your way to see about that nitroglycerin," Nurse Swift said. "Tell your parents to pull together whatever paperwork they have about it."

"Right." Bow walked off purposefully.

Nurse Swift looked at Catra and spoke in a hurried murmur. "You can't possibly tell them—"

"—yeah, no, definitely not."

"Hey, guys, she came back!" Frosta called as Catra sidled back into the waiting room. "We didn't scare her off after all."

"I told you she was tougher than that."

"Get out of her seat, Mermista!"

"Your earring is gone."

"Mom, tell Glimmer it's my turn with the Gameboy!"

"Come sit down, Catra," Angella said, her cool, gentle voice cutting through the hubbub. "I am very glad we haven't scared you off yet. It occurred to us that we don't even know your last name." She held a pen ready above a pocket-sized notebook. "I'd love to have your phone number as well."

"We haven't asked much about you," Micah said as Catra hesitantly spelled out her name and number for Angella. "I assure you, we want to know everything."

"Oh, there's not much to know."

"How did you meet Perfuma?" Glimmer asked.

"Um, at work," Catra said, and when eight smiling faces waited expectantly, she wet her lips and continued. "She… she came through my line, you know, at the booth. And I just looked up at her and… knew. That she was special."

"Love at first sight?" Glimmer sounded ready to swoon.

"That always works out," Mermista drawled.

Bow elbowed her. "Have you and Perfuma set a date for the wedding?" he asked Catra.

"Not yet," she said. "It's still… really soon, it's all happened pretty fast." She didn't have a ring. Would they notice she didn't have a ring?

"The time will all work out, dearie," Razz said serenely. "Three years over five seasons—it comes out to about fifty hours, I think. You could watch it all in a week if you were determined."

"What?"

"Mind you, I think it's more fun to stretch it out," Razz continued. "But the second and third seasons are only half the length of the rest, I always wondered what that was about."

"Me too, Granny," Micah said, unconcerned, giving Catra a don't-worry-about-it hand wave. "Catra, what was the first thing you noticed about our Perfuma?"

"Well, the first thing I saw was her hand, you know, dropping in a token. She had an adoption tattoo and, uh, a rainbow bracelet. So I knew we had a lot in common right away." Catra could feel her face going red.

"Oh, are you adopted too?" That was Entrapta, now sitting on the back of a couch between Frosta and Mermista. "Isn't it great? Like the _upgraded_ version of family!"

Catra's voice came out hoarse. "No. I was never that lucky."

"Ohhh," Entrapta said. "Foster system graduate. Been there, or almost, and it sucks monkey balls."

"Entrapta, language!" Angella hissed, and took Catra's hand. "Well, don't worry, Catra. Your luck is changing now."

_It really isn't_ , Catra thought, letting the chaos flow around her as the Queens bickered over vending machine money and what constituted swearing and something about adoption birthdays. _I'm on this train without a ticket. But I'll stay on until the conductor kicks me off._

"I saw a train after my last heart attack, you know," Razz said brightly. "A light at the end of a dark tunnel, with the air just rushing all around me! Quite thrilling. Are we at a hospital, dearie? I don't like hospitals much. They always make me think someone must be dying. Is it me this time?"

"Oh, no, we're just waiting here for a while, Granny," Catra said, patting her hand. "Everything's going to be fine."

***

It was after dark before Catra finally got home, dragging her exhausted body up the stairs to her apartment. Perfuma's condition was unchanged, and visiting hours had ended, so at length the Queens had all reluctantly gone home. Catra was released from hours of Engagement Pantomime and felt as exhausted as if she'd spent the day in hard labor.

But she hadn't even tried to leave any earlier.

"There you are, my saltwater siren!"

Catra glared wordlessly at Sea Hawk as he thumped down the stairs to stop in front of her.

"Saturday night! Eight o'clock! I hope you are available?"

"For what?" she asked, which was a mistake. She should have gone straight to NO.

"Ice Capades!" Sea Hawk crowed, producing a pair of tickets from his pocket. "Not easy to procure, but a true captain never—"

"Uh-huh." Catra squeezed past him and kept walking, closing her apartment door without looking back.

***

By nightfall, Adora had gotten the truck to a shop and herself to a motel, after spending all day finding one of the first that was open and one of the second that had a vacancy, in between dashing to pay phones to check in with her family about Perfuma.

"Merry Christmas," said the listless front desk clerk as she checked in.

"It really isn't," Adora said, "but thanks."

If there was a worse feeling than her family enjoying Christmas without her, it had to be her family spending Christmas huddled together in a hospital room without her. Her sister might be dying, her whole family was scared and suffering, and she was alone and useless on the side of I-55.

Mermista, Micah and Bow had all offered to come get her, but Adora wouldn't hear of it. She wasn't going to pull any of the group away from the others, especially not when they'd just have to drive all the way back to get the truck when it was fixed tomorrow. The family had enough on their plate without worrying about her.

Like Perfuma's _fiancee_ , apparently.

Somehow in the six months she'd been gone, Perfuma had met, fallen for, and decided to marry someone. If she hadn't found herself, at least she'd found someone else! Someone named _Catra_ , of all things. That had really given Adora a turn. But Angella had described Perfuma's fiancee as shy and subdued, words that had never been accurate descriptors of her Catra, so of course it wasn't the same—

Her Catra. Adora snorted at herself as she dropped onto the creaky motel bed. Poorly chosen phrase, and yet… Catra had been hers, once. And she had been Catra's. Catra's _what_ was a question with no answer, but something.

Anyway, this Catra was Perfuma's something, perhaps Perfuma's everything, and that was great, of course, that was wonderful. A new member of the family. Not the first; Bow had been a welcome addition, though his engagement to Glimmer was almost a formality by the time it finally happened. Entrapta wasn't engaged yet, but things were clearly serious with that grim, gothic weirdo from her workplace. The family wasn't sure what to make of him yet, but Entrapta seemed happy with him, and that was the important part. Mermista had brought home a couple of boyfriends over the years, no one too serious.

Adora never had. Not that she'd bring home a _boy_ , regardless, she'd known that since high school. Since long before that, really, though she hadn't known how to say it, how to think it… Anyway her parents knew that and were fine with it; Perfuma and Glimmer were both bi, Bow probably was as well, none of it was a big deal. That wasn't the reason Adora had never brought anyone home. She'd just never met anyone she wanted to add to her family, add to her life permanently. Someone she wanted to… be part of, and make part of herself. She hadn't found that yet.

But Perfuma had. With someone named _Catra_.

Adora would find a way to deal with that, a way to get used to it and not feel that strange painful electricity down her spine every time she heard the name. She had to. For her sister.

But it wasn't going to be easy.


	5. Chapter 5

Despite her exhaustion, Catra slept fitfully, and finally woke up around two in the morning with the bone-deep knowledge that she wasn't going to go back to sleep. Even Melog, curled around her head like a purring crown, couldn't get her to relax.

She got dressed and caught a train to the hospital.

No one stopped her from scurrying into Perfuma's room. Catra wasn't sure if the nurses didn't see her, or if this was the kind of unit where they didn't enforce things too strictly because the patients were so likely to die. She tried not to think about it too hard.

She sat down next to Perfuma's bed and bit her lip, drumming her fingernails on the bedrail. "So," she murmured after a minute, "I bet you're wondering what _I'm_ doing here."

Perfuma, of course, did not answer. Princess Charming was now Sleeping Beauty. She didn't quite look like she was only sleeping; even aside from the bandage, her face was too slack, her color too mealy. Freckles stood out like drops of ink. Angella had brushed out her hair, earlier, and re-attached her poinsettia barrettes. She looked delicate and fragile, like something Catra shouldn't be allowed to touch.

"My name's Catra Weaver," Catra said. "You don't know me. I know you, though. I mean, a little. I see you almost every day. You're always smiling. You're always nice to everyone. You give money to every busker you pass. I've seen you help a little girl that fell and dropped her crayons. I've seen you take pictures of weeds, even though your friends were teasing you about it. I know you're a nicer person than me. And I swear I didn't mean to get you into this situation." She clawed her fingers through her hair, which was probably a disaster right now; she hadn't brushed it after getting out of bed.

"The situation," she continued, "being that your family thinks we're engaged. Interesting that you're the kind of person who might, in fact, get engaged without telling your folks. Gotta wonder what's going on there. But I—I didn't mean for this to happen. If you would just wake up, I wouldn't be in this mess… Not that I'm blaming you!" She touched Perfuma's hand, pulled back, hesitantly reached back again to hold it. "You didn't do a thing wrong. Probably ever in your life. I'm the screw-up, I know that. Life has always made sure I knew that."

She looked down at Perfuma's hand in hers, brushing her thumb back and forth. A surprisingly strong-looking hand, with long callused fingers. Did Perfuma garden, maybe? That seemed consistent with what Catra knew about her.

"Your family is so nice," she said, and hated the longing she could hear in her own voice. "I used to dream about… well, that's not important. I just hope you appreciate it, you know, having people who love you. I'm sure they drive you crazy sometimes, I can see how they would. But every one of them dropped everything to be at your side today. That matters. If it had been me that fell off that platform… They wouldn't have found any next of kin to call for me. Maybe my boss…" She trailed off, staring at the limp hand in hers.

"Everyone has ideas of what their life will be like when they grow up, right?" she said. "I had a lot of ideas. Ways to show… certain people that they were wrong about me, that I could do anything, that I could _matter_. And I don't, actually. I don't matter to anyone. I mean," she forced herself to perk up, "I'm doing all right for myself, for a foster kid with no degree. I have a job, I have an apartment. I have a cat. Sole possession of the remote control, very important. I just don't have anyone to… laugh with. Geez, that has to be the lamest thing anyone has ever said." Catra could feel her cheeks burning.

"But maybe you wouldn't care. You seem like the kind of person who might be into all that sappy romantic stuff. Like love at first sight. Like maybe the first time I saw you _did_ mean something." She dashed at her watering eyes. "Have you ever done that? Fallen in love with someone you've never even talked to? Seen somebody and just known that if they really knew you, they would—well, obviously, dump the perfect model they were with, because they wanted to just… grow old with you? Ever felt like that?" She covered her face with both hands and laughed, a bitter sound that came out louder than she meant. "Ever felt so alone you spend the night confusing a stranger in a coma?"

She thought she heard footsteps then, and turned with a gasp, adrenaline surging—but there was no one at the doorway to Perfuma's room. The only person in sight was a young man getting into the elevator, and even if he did look a lot like Bow from the back, he was surely too far away to have heard anything.

***

Catra didn't mean to fall asleep at Perfuma's bedside, and she certainly regretted it when she woke, gritty-eyed and stiff-necked, slumped over the bed railing.

"Ugh, what time is it?" she moaned, as if Perfuma might answer. She didn't, of course, but Catra did think she looked a bit better today, a bit healthier. That brightened Catra's spirits even as she unearthed her wristwatch from the depths of her sweater sleeve and hissed at the time it displayed. "I'm gonna be late for work…"

She gathered her coat and purse, turned to dash out of Perfuma's hospital room—and ran right into the Queens.

"Catra!" Angella cried, a smile breaking over her exhausted-looking face. "Good heavens, did you spend the night here?"

"At least there are stars in this universe," Granny Razz said brightly. "They make the nights much prettier, I think."

"How's Perfuma?" Micah asked.

"I think she has more color…"

"She does have more color!" Family members swarmed the figure in the bed, exclaiming over her improved appearance.

Catra inched toward the door, but little Frosta grabbed her sleeve. "Dad, she's escaping!"

"Frosta, we're not trying to take her prisoner!"

"But you said to grab her if we see her!"

Micah gave Catra an apologetic smile and extracted his youngest from her sleeve. "I meant that we wanted to invite you to our house this evening. We didn't really get to have Christmas, you know, so we're opening gifts and all that. You'll get to meet Adora, she should be home by then."

"Please do come," Angella called from over by the bed.

"Oh, I—I don't know, I think I have to work…"

Micah pulled out a pen and aimed it at his own arm. "What's your number?"

"I already have her number," Angella called.

"Oh, good! Angella will call and talk you into it. And here's the address for when you change your mind." Micah handed her a business card. _Queen & Family Estate Sales_. "We buy furniture from dead people," he explained casually.

"It's all haunted," Mermista said.

"Ghosts are not real!" Entrapta yelled. "Ghosts are a completely illogical idea based on superstition and confirmation bias and the neurological tendency to construct patterns—"

"Oh, there she goes again—"

"I have to get to work," Catra said, and ducked out.

She couldn't possibly attend these people's family Christmas, of course. She had no right to be there, even if, unlike everyone else in the world, they actually wanted her to come.

She was pressing the elevator button when an orderly caught up to her with a cardboard box. "Catra Weaver? These are your wife's things—"

"She's not my _wife!"_ Catra snarled. Could no one in this hospital keep track of reality? Were they setting out to deliberately make her feel worse about everything?

"Er… sorry, your fiancee." He pressed the box—which seemed to contain Perfuma's purse and coat—into her hands and dashed off again before she could protest.

The elevator had opened while the orderly was talking; a tall man with blond hair stepped out with an expression of interest.

"You're Perfuma's fiancee?"

"…Okay, yeah," Catra sighed, because why not, might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb at this point.

"It's great to meet you! I'm Seneschal, I work with Perfuma at the shop." The florist shop, Catra assumed, since he was wearing a shirt with a flowery logo reading _Plumeria Flowers & Gifts_. It made sense Perfuma would work at a florist.

Seneschal reached out to shake Catra's hand, only to be stymied by the box. The elevator was closing; Catra managed to block it open with her foot.

"Gosh, she's really had a rough year," Seneschal added, not taking the hint that Catra wanted to get away. "Between this and the accident."

"Accident?" Catra repeated, kicking the door open again.

"Yeah, I mean, of course it was an accident, it wasn't my fault—did Perfuma tell you it was _my_ fault?" Seneschal looked flustered and offended. "I had a pencil in my back pocket, okay? I'm an artist! We carry pencils around! She can probably still have children—"

"I gotta go," Catra said, and darted into the elevator just as the doors closed, wondering what in the _world_ that was about.

***

Scorpia, of course, had to hear every detail of what had happened, not at all satisfied with Catra's brief report the day before. And Catra, her need for advice outweighing her good sense, spilled everything before she could think better of it.

"—and the grandmother has this heart condition," she said, words rattling out of her mouth as fast as her teeth could chatter as they watched the man at hot dog stand make their orders, "she's already had like three heart attacks, if anything shocks her she's gonna die and it'll be on my head! And the dad said I'm one of their girls now, everyone's being so _nice_ to me, I don't know how to tell them it's all a lie—"

"I don't see what the big deal here is, wildcat," Scorpia said, accepting her hot dog and taking a bite. "Just go along with it! When Perfuma wakes up, they'll be so happy, they won't care that you lied to them. They'll probably even thank you for it!"

The hot dog man, Catra noticed with irritation, was listening to them with thinly-veiled fascination. He was also putting sauerkraut on her hot dog again. "Hey, kraut-for-brains," she snapped, "I have never ordered that on a hot dog in my life. Try again." She turned back to Scorpia. "But what if Perfuma never wakes up?"

"Then who's to ever know?"

Catra groaned.

Scorpia took her by the shoulders. "Listen, Catra. When my moms found out I was joining the Marines, Mamita's intestines exploded."

_Oh my god_ , Catra mouthed.

"She lived, obviously, but my point is—if you tell them the truth now," Scorpia took a big bite of her hot dog, "you might as well shoot grandma."


	6. Chapter 6

Angella did call to talk Catra into coming to their house for a belated Christmas. Catra watched the phone ring and listened to her leave a message, as she sat at her dinky table with a microwave dinner. Melog, picking at his food bowl on the other side of the table, squinted at the answering machine, and then at Catra.

"What?" she said. "You have some kind of opinion on this? You don't know anything about it." Well, she had in fact told him everything. But he was a cat. He didn't understand, and anyway he didn't get to have opinions on her life choices.

She took a determined bite of her microwave macaroni and cheese, and grimaced. It wasn't as good as her usual brand.

Melog hopped down from the table and pranced over to the refrigerator.

"No," Catra said. "You don't get any more wet food. You've already had extra. Stuff's not cheap, you know."

Melog jumped up and batted at the newest addition to the refrigerator door's contents—Micah's business card, one corner shoved under a magnet that was already holding up two bills and a calendar. The way the card was precariously sticking out had apparently drawn Melog's attention.

"Ugh, leave that alone!"

Melog jumped again, this time managing to knock the card to the floor, where he began batting it back and forth and chewing on the corner of it.

"Melog!" Catra got up and took the card away from him, earning a grumble of discontent from somewhere in the depths of his gray fluff. He stared at her, tail lashing.

For a long moment, she stared back.

"I can't!" she burst out finally. "They think I'm their future daughter-in-law and I'm _not_. I can't just… go hang out with some random family just because they invited me, just because I'm in this sad stupid empty apartment with this sad stupid gross mac and cheese and this sad stupid Christmas tree that I never finished decorating and now Christmas is _over_ and I never—" She cut herself off before she could _cry_ like an idiot, ripped the business card in half, and flung both halves to the floor.

Tail quivering eagerly, Melog chased down one half of the card, then the other, picking them up delicately in his mouth, and brought them back to her.

Catra blew a strand of hair out of her eyes, glared at her cat, and went to find her headband and some decent clothes.

"You realize this means leaving you all alone for the evening," she grumbled on her way out of the door. "Shot yourself in the foot, didn't ya."

Melog, deeply occupied in grooming his butthole, paid her no attention at all.

***

Catra bought a poinsettia she couldn't afford, hailed a cab that she _really_ couldn't afford, gave it the address on the pieced-together business card, and stepped out of it into some kind of real-life Thomas Kinkade painting.

The Queen family residence was two stories of picture-perfect white clapboard, dusted with snow, windows warmly a-glow. Green garland curled around the porch rail, and multicolored Christmas lights twinkled liberally along the eaves and through the bushes. Catra could picture Micah and a handful of daughters out here, hanging lights from ladders, throwing snowballs at each other while Angella scolded and told them to be careful.

Exactly the kind of place she'd never belonged. And never would.

 _This was a bad idea_ , she thought, and turned away. Maybe the cab hadn't gone too far—

"Catra?"

Catra swallowed a wince and turned to see Bow at the corner of the house, huffing and puffing as he tried to pull a big, wheeled garbage can through the snow. "Hey, Bow."

"I'm so glad you made it after all! Can you give me a hand with this?"

"Um, sure." She set the poinsettia down on the edge of the porch and waded through the snow toward him.

In trying to move the trash can, she quickly realized Bow was more hindrance than help. "Just get out of the way," she said impatiently, after some useless back-and-forth effort, and hauled the stupid can herself.

"Wow," Bow said, following after her. "Stronger than you look."

"Damn straight," she grunted.

"How you holding up?"

"Better than you were!"

"No, I meant—you know, Perfuma."

Right. Her alleged fiancee was in a coma. "I'm… you know, keeping it together," she said awkwardly.

"That's good." They reached the street; Bow hauled the can around with a scraping sound, getting it properly positioned for pickup. "There's one more, if you…?"

"Yeah," Catra said with a laugh, "since you clearly can't manage it yourself."

Bow actually stuck his tongue out at her, the child, and they tromped back through the now-broken snow toward the side of the house.

"Did you know," Bow said, "I actually dated Perfuma before Glimmer?"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. We were just kids, I mean, we really just went to a school dance together. Glimmer was _so_ jealous, which was kind of a first clue for both of us… We hadn't thought of each other that way before, but she'd been my best friend for years."

They reached the second trash can, just as heavy as the first. Bow reached out to help with it, but Catra was already yanking it forward; Bow yelped as it ran over his foot.

"Watch it!" Catra cried, and then, belatedly, "Sorry."

"No worries." Bow's voice was a little strangled as he picked up his foot and rubbed at it. "What was I… Oh, Glimmer. My dads travel a lot, so for a lot of my school breaks I just went home with Glimmer. So the Queens have been my second family for a really long time."

"Two families! Lucky you." Catra couldn't keep the bittnerness out of her voice. Maybe the gritty slushing of the trash can through the snow would cover it.

It didn't, judging from Bow's apologetic look. "Yeah, you mentioned being in foster care… You don't have any family at all?"

"Nope."

Bow nodded sadly. "I know a lot of foster kids get bounced around so much, they don't get the chance to really bond with anyone."

 _"Wish_ that were me." Halfway to the street with the second can, Catra stopped to catch her breath and flex her cold, aching hands. "I had the same foster mother from the time I was three. She just _sucked_. Black hole of a woman, never let a kid go if she could help it. And Social Services thought she walked on water, that she was this miracle worker with troubled kids, so she got away with murder." Not literally. That Catra knew of.

Bow's eyebrows had risen. "She must have _really_ sucked, for you to want nothing to do with her even when you didn't have anyone else..."

"Yep," Catra said shortly, and started tugging the can again. Bow tried to help; she glared at him until he got out of the way.

"What about foster siblings?" he asked. "Did you stay in touch with any of them?"

"What's with the third degree, you writing a memoir about me?" Catra snarled.

Bow spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be nosy."

"Well, you sure make it look effortless." She tried to rein in her temper, looking Bow up and down. She didn't share her personal history with anyone, not even Scorpia. But the useless idiot had such an open, sympathetic face that she felt bad for snapping at him. "No, I don't know anything about my foster siblings," she said, a little gentler. "As soon as I turned eighteen, I ran and didn't look back."

Lonnie and Rogelio were gone by then anyway, both into the military, and Kyle had finally run away enough times to get moved to another home. She'd never bonded with any of the younger ones. She just didn't have it in her, after Adora.

They finally reached the street with the trash can, and Bow again stepped in to get the can turned the right way.

"Good work, team," he said, and Catra snorted. They cross the yard and started up the driveway toward the house.

"It must have been really hard," Bow said after a minute. "Trying to, you know, make it as an adult, without any kind of support network."

Catra lifted her chin. "I found work. Got a roof over my head. Haven't needed help from anyone for anything." She'd missed meals, slept cold nights in scary places, done a few things she wasn't proud of—but she'd made it happen.

Bow nodded, watching her instead of his footing, which he was probably going to regret. "Well, your luck's changing now. The Queens aren't millionaires or anything, but they're pretty comfortable. They'll be happy to help you out—you and Perfuma—with anything you need, to get started."

Catra recoiled from the thought, showing her teeth before she could stop herself. "Like hell. I don't need a handout from the Queens or anyone else. I can take care of myself, and I can take care of my wife, too." That was a nice fantasy, anyway—being able to take care of someone else.

Bow gave a brilliant smile and didn't say anything, finally watching his feet as they crossed an icy patch.

Catra frowned at him as they reached the porch and she bent down to get her poinsettia. "Wait, was that some kind of test?"

"You passed," Bow said cheerily. "It wouldn't kill you to let other people help you sometimes, actually. Especially people who care about you."

 _Like I could find any_ , Catra thought.

"But yeah, I'm satisfied that you're not here to prey on my family in some way. So there's no need for me to open my mouth just yet."

"About what?" Catra asked, just as the front door opened.

"Catra!" Angella exclaimed. "I'm so glad you're here, we didn't know if you were coming! And Bow, that's where you slipped off to! Come inside, darlings, it's freezing out here. Razz made eggnog, no one has any idea what's in it, but I didn't burn the snickerdoodles this time—look, everyone, Catra's here!"

And Catra was hustled inside to a chorus of cheers and welcomes before she could get any answer from Bow.

The inside of the Queen house was warm, bright, and utter chaos. Catra gathered an impression of profuse decoration, delicious smells, and the faint strains of "Silent Night," but the details were lost under a hubbub of voices and far too many people trying to touch her.

 _"Stop it!"_ she snapped, snatching her arm away from Frosta, who was tugging urgently at her sleeve.

All the happy clamor went silent for a moment.

"Tidings of comfort and joy to you, too," Mermista said snidely, pulling a wide-eyed Frosta away.

"Now, now," Angella said soothingly, but Catra was moving before she noticed her speaking, thrusting her poinsettia out in awkward offering.

"Merry Christmas," she blurted.

Angella took the plant as graciously as if it hadn't been shoved in her face like a bomb.

"It's beautiful, Catra, thank you."

"Catra," hissed a stage-whisper to her right, and Catra turned to see Entrapta leaning out of what looked like the dining room, beckoning to her. "There's food in here! And no people!"

Bow, Catra noticed, was making encouraging motions at her. Resisting the urge to give him the finger, she let herself be lured into the dining room, where Entrapta handed her a plate and presented an entire table of Christmas-themed tidbits.

"I love tiny food," Entrapta said, heaping her own plate with the smallest cookies and candies on offer. "And quiet rooms. Don't you?"

Outside the doorway, several family members had drifted away, while others were still watching-without-watching. Catra grimaced and started putting things on her plate. She wasn't going to turn down free food, regardless of anything else.

"How many people actually live here?" Catra asked. It wasn't a small house, but it felt full to bursting.

Entrapta squinted. "Five. Six if you want to count Bow, which you might as well, but technically he has an apartment. He's usually here with Glimmer, who lives here because she's in graduate school. Adora lives here because she's training to take over the business. And Frosta lives here because she's eleven."

Adora again. "Is Adora here yet? Your dad said I'd meet her tonight."

"Nope, not yet." Entrapta, very carefully filling a doll-sized mug with apple cider, didn't elaborate.

Catra repressed a growl, wishing she could get it over with already—meeting Adora, that was—so she could stop thinking about it.

Her shoulder brushed a photo on the wall as she rounded the table to get to the goodies on the other side, and she reached up to steady it.

"That's Perfuma's adoption day photo," Entrapta said.

"Oh, yeah?" Catra stepped back and craned her neck, taking a look. At the center of the photo were a younger Angella and Micah, arms around a girl of thirteen or fourteen as she held up a certificate of adoption. Perfuma looked… different than Catra expected, somehow. She was lanky and broad-shouldered, her hair very short. If it weren't for the pink dress and familiar flower barrettes in her hair, Catra might have taken her for a boy. But it was definitely Perfuma's same sweet face and sunny smile.

"You're not in this," Catra said curiously. She could see a short, adorably chubby girl that had to be Glimmer, and a scowling dark-haired one that was probably Mermista, but the other three children were unfamiliar.

"Nope! Those three on the right," Entrapta reached across the table to tap the glass, "that's the Stars, a sibling set they fostered just before me. They went to live with their grandmother, and the Queens got me and Frosta by the end of the year. Adora was… a year after that, I think?" She grinned widely. "I was seventeen. My social worker lost a bet! She didn't think anyone would ever adopt me! I'm not supposed to know that, of course…"

"Well, I'm not surprised she didn't expect it," Catra said. "Why would anyone bother to adopt a seventeen-year-old?"

It wasn't the most sensitive thing she'd ever said, she supposed, but Entrapta didn't seem to mind, and it was a good question. Even if the foster parents were perfectly willing to consider a kid theirs, there wasn't much point in going through the trouble and expense of making it official only a few months before they aged out of the system.

It wasn't Entrapta who answered, but Angella, stepping unobtrusively into the dining room. "Because we love Entrapta, and we didn't want her to doubt for a moment how much she belongs in our family. No one can ever argue she isn't ours."

Catra thought of the doctor sending her brusquely away from Perfuma because she wasn't family. "I can see that, I guess."

She remembered turning seventeen, and realizing that even if she got moved from Ms. Weaver's house, she was never going to be adopted now. She was never going to have parents. It was already too late. But maybe it hadn't been. Maybe she could have found someone like the Queens.

Not that it mattered now. She was twenty-five. She didn't need parents now.

"Can you two come help us move furniture?" Angella asked. "The dance-off is about to begin."

"Oooh!" Entrapta leaped ahead of Catra out of the dining room, leaving her plate behind. Catra followed behind, nibbling off her own plate as she walked. She wasn't going to make careless assumptions about her free food, and no one could take away what she'd already swallowed.

They moved furniture, though even after participating Catra wasn't sure where they put it. The living room was so thoroughly dominated by a massive Christmas tree, and the presents piled three-deep around it, that it was hard to imagine anything else fitting in the room. But somehow they opened up a space for dancing, turned on a CD of dance-remix Christmas carols, and went nuts.

And Catra actually found herself having fun. She'd always enjoyed a party; she hadn't really discovered them until escaping Ms. Weaver's, and they usually involved dimmer lighting and a lot more alcohol, but dancing was still dancing. It was hard to feel too self-conscious about herself with Micah performing the dorkiest moves known to man six feet away. Frosta, probably drawn to the novelty of the stranger, took it upon herself to teach Catra a dance step she already knew. Glimmer taught her one she didn't. Entrapta stayed encouragingly nearby. It was fun.

The family took a break to catch their breaths, and Catra flopped into one of the chairs shoved up against the wall, guzzling apple cider. Entrapta grabbed the seat next to her, only for Frosta to shove her out of the way.

"I want to sit next to Catra!"

"No, stop hogging her!"

"Oh my gosh, take turns," Mermista said, "if it's so freaking important. Must be nice, Catra, to be so super special that people fight over your attention."

"What? No, I don't want their attention—"

"Why not?" Frosta looked hurt.

"Catra, you want some more cider while I'm pouring?" Micah called.

"Hey, I want to nominate Catra for this year's top dancer," Bow said, raising a glass. "Did you guys see her breaking out the moves?"

"I have to go to the bathroom," Catra said, a little panicked.

Turning to go, she bumped into Granny Razz, who was still dancing energetically despite the lack of music.

"Where are you going, dearie?" she said, grabbing Catra's arm and squinting at her through her thick glasses. "I thought you'd defeated the evil one already. Isn't this your happy ending?"

Catra shook her off and ran from the room.

She didn't know where the bathroom was, but she managed to find a dark corner under the stairs and wedge herself there, gasping and clawing at her hair.

She wasn't sure how long she was there, berating herself relentlessly for being weird in front of these people and for coming here at all, before she heard footsteps on the stairs overhead. She held her breath, but it was too late; the footsteps faltered. Whoever it was had heard her.

"Catra?" Glimmer reached the bottom, and peered hesitantly around the edge of the staircase at her. "Are you okay?"

Glimmer, right, Glimmer had gone upstairs to change after spilling cider on her shirt. Glimmer hadn't been there when Catra fled from the unbearable trial of people liking her too much.

"I'm fine," Catra managed, very unconvincingly.

Glimmer hovered, not coming any closer but not leaving. "Did something happen?"

Catra laughed, wet and sharp. "People were being too nice to me."

Glimmer didn't laugh, or look at her like she was crazy. Instead, she came closer, her expression apologetic.

"My family can be a lot," she said.

"It's not that," Catra said. "I mean, they are, but that's not the problem."

"Then what is? Why is it a problem for people to be nice to you?" Glimmer came another step closer. When Catra flinched, she stopped and just sat down on the floor, her back against the same under-stair cupboard Catra was sitting against, around the corner.

Catra chewed a nail, breaking off a fleck of black polish. "I haven't done anything to earn it."

"You don't have to earn people being nice to you."

"Maybe you don't," Catra said, "in your perfect sparkly fairytale-princess life, with your big clean house and your rich, happy parents. But I do. I always do."

"Okay," Glimmer said. "Well, if you really have to look at it that way, Perfuma—"

 _"Don't_ —Don't say I'm family because I'm marrying Perfuma. That doesn't count." Crap, what was she going to say if Glimmer asked why that didn't count?

"I was going to say, Perfuma's alive because of you," Glimmer said gently. "Right? You really did jump onto the tracks for her?"

Catra shuddered through a momentary flashback to the train whipping her hair, drowning out her scream of terror. "Yeah. I really did."

"So, you saved my sister's life. You've earned one family gathering."

"That… makes sense." Catra felt her stomach unknotting a little. Maybe Glimmer was right. Maybe she'd earned a _little_ bit of love. No, that was presumptuous, but—a little bit of welcome. She'd earned a place here, just for one evening.

"Okay. Good." Glimmer sounded relieved, and satisfied, and a little sad. What did she have to be sad about? "Let me get you a tissue. We can go back in when you're ready."

When Catra and Glimmer walked into the living room, it was much quieter than she'd left it, the music turned off and only a few people murmuring to each other. Angella, Catra realized, was on the phone with a finger in her opposite ear.

"I can barely hear you at all, darling—oh, yes, I understand now. All right."

"Is that Adora?" Glimmer whispered to Bow, who nodded and said, "The truck broke down again. Your dad says he's gonna sell it for scrap."

Micah was putting on his coat. "Angella, tell her I am coming to get her this time, and she's not talking me out of it. I want my little girl _home."_

"Yes, he is, and I agree with him," Angella said into the phone. "Are you sure? Fine, I'll tell him that. All right. I love you too, Adora. Please be careful." She set down the phone and turned to Micah. "Yes, you are going to get her, but the tow truck is already there, she's safe and warm. She wants us to go ahead with presents, and come get her after."

Micah scowled, looking around uncertainly at his other gathered children.

"Presents?" Frosta said hopefully.

"I mean," Mermista said reluctantly, "sounds like it's gonna be hours before she gets here… I guess we could just wait until tomorrow."

"No, you've waited long enough, poor things," Micah said. "All right, gather up, we're doing presents. But don't open anything from Adora! We'll do those tomorrow so she can see!"

Furniture was moved again, and everyone sat in a half-circle around the Christmas tree while Frosta, clearly accustomed to this role, started passing out presents. Catra watched as wrapping paper went flying and exclamations of delight started.

"Oh, darling, they're perfect!" Angella cried, leaning over to kiss Micah as she clutched her new pearl earrings. Entrapta shouted joyfully about a new Walkman. Mermista whooped as she held up some sort of ticket for sailing lessons— _Hah_ , Catra thought, _Sea Hawk should have given that awful ring to_ her. Glimmer and Micah compared hideous sweaters apparently knitted by an Aunt Casta.

"Do try the eggnog, dearie," Razz said, nudging a mug into Catra's hand. The liquid inside the mug was not the right color to be eggnog.

"Granny, this is for you, from Glimmer. And _this_ ," Frosta said triumphantly, "is for Catra, from Santa."

Catra stared at the red-and-silver wrapped box. "But I—I didn't get anything for anyone—"

"It's from _Santa_ ," Frosta repeated. "You don't have to get anything for Santa."

Speechless, Catra hugged the present tight against her chest as Frosta moved off, handing out more presents. She'd earned the right to be here, she reminded herself. Just for tonight. It was okay. It was okay that they'd gotten her a present.

She almost didn't want to open it; she knew it had to contain something mundane and generic, gloves or a scarf or a candle. No one here knew her well enough to do otherwise.

It didn't matter. She didn't care what the present was. It was a Christmas present, for _her_. The first one she'd gotten since she turned eighteen.

"You're in the Princess Alliance now. See?" Razz said, pointing over Catra's shoulder.

Catra looked behind her at the mantle, which was crowded with stockings of wildly different colors and sizes, all bulging with goodies. Right at the end was a new-looking one in plain red, with CATRA written on it in white puff-paint.

"There's magic in the world again, you know," Razz said. "It's everywhere now."

"Yeah," Catra said unsteadily. "Maybe it is."

***

Catra ended up staying the night at the Queens', which was less a decision than a falling over on the couch during _Miracle on 34 th Street_. She woke up in the dark living room in the middle of the night, a pillow under her head and a blanket tucked around her.

The pillow was softer than anything she'd ever owned, and smelled like some kind of sweet floral fabric softener. Catra burrowed her face into it and was about to go back to sleep, when she realized what had woken her up.

There were people in the foyer, talking in low voices and locking the front door behind them. Micah was finally home with the mysterious Adora.

"Finally! I was getting worried." That voice was Angella's, her feet padding down the stairs toward them.

"We're fine, Mom." A young woman's voice, weary and affectionate, and all Catra's sleepiness sizzled instantly away. It was just the power of suggestion, it had to be, but she sounded so much like…

Silent as smoke, Catra got up from the couch and drifted to the living room doorway. From there she could see Micah shrugging off a snow-dusted coat, Angella in a silky bathrobe hugging her daughter. A daughter with exactly the same dark-blonde hair—it was even in a ponytail just like Adora always wore—this was insane, it wasn't her, _it couldn't be her_ —

Angella stepped back from the hug, revealing Adora's face, and it _was_ Adora's face. It was Adora. Her Adora.

"What was that?" Adora said, in response to whatever choked noise Catra had made, and peered, frowning, into the dark living room.

"Oh, Catra's asleep on the couch," Angella said, lowering her voice. "I hope we haven't woken her. Poor thing, she always looks so tired."

"She's here?" Adora stepped closer to the doorway.

Catra wanted to laugh, or scream, or cry. She couldn't breathe. Her whole body felt like it was frozen solid and also on fire, drenched in a heady mix of remembered love and despair and rage. She wasn't capable of moving away, hiding, even though she desperately wanted to.

Adora, haloed by the foyer light, one tiny snowflake caught in her eyelashes, looked almost exactly the same as Catra remembered her. A decade had been just enough to make her face look settled, grown. A woman instead of a girl. Her eyes were the same, her mouth, her slightly sticky-out ears. Catra couldn't look away.

She saw the moment Adora caught sight of her in the half-light. Saw her blanche with shock, then fumble blindly for a lightswitch. The room flooded with light; Catra couldn't keep herself from flinching.

"Catra?" Adora's voice was hoarse and disbelieving.

Catra had no idea what her face and body language might be doing, but heard her own voice come out of her mouth, smooth and calm as if everything were perfectly fine.

"Hey, Adora."


	7. Chapter 7

The first thought in Adora's stunned, flatlining brain was that Catra was even prettier than she remembered. She'd always been striking, with the dramatic mismatched eyes and wild dark hair; Adora had always felt like she could look at her forever. But now the body Adora remembered as stick-skinny was… compellingly curved, and she stood with a confidence more convincing than her old bravado, even with her face soft and hair messy with sleep.

"Hey, Adora," she said, that same smug, teasing voice, once her favorite voice in the world, and Adora felt it reach right down inside her and _grab_.

It made her so angry she could barely breathe.

_How_ dare _you?_ she wanted to shout. _How dare you just show up in my living room saying "Hey Adora" and_ smirking _at me after throwing me out of your life like garbage?_

"What's… going on here?" Micah asked.

Angella put a hand to her mouth. "Wait. Catra. Adora, is this _your_ Catra?"

"She's hardly _mine_ ," Adora said, at the same time that Catra snapped, "I'm not _hers_."

Adora's head was overflowing now with competing memories, all the best and worst moments of her childhood. Catra tenderly patching up her knees when Adora fell off her tricycle. Catra biting her arm during a tantrum. Catra confessing to a school vandalism neither of them had done because Adora was getting blamed for it. Catra spending tireless hours helping her figure out geometry. Catra picking jealous fights any time Adora got too close to another friend.

Catra curled up in her arms on the roof, both of them baring their every secret under the stars. Catra throwing her pinky-promise ring in Adora's face and screaming that she never wanted to see her again.

"But yeah, we were fostered together," Catra was saying stiffly. "You… you know about me? She's talked about me?"

"Of course," Angella said. "You were best friends. I know Adora's missed you terribly."

"Yeah, well, that was ten years ago," Adora said coldly. She could tell her parents were confused. They'd never had all the details about Catra. They couldn't understand why this wasn't a joyful reunion. No matter how much Adora wanted it to be.

"Ten years is a long time. Of course you'll have to get to know each other again," Angella said cautiously.

"No, we won't," Adora said, "because there's no way she's really Perfuma's fiancee. No. No way Perfuma would marry _her."_

Catra's face turned white, then red, and oh, Adora knew that furious expression. "Why the hell not?"

"Adora—" Micah tried to say.

"Perfuma 'peace and harmony' Queen? In love with _Catra_? No, Catra's not her type at all."

"How would you know?" Catra snarled.

"I know you!"

"You knew me ten years ago!"

"Yeah, and ten years ago you said you never wanted to see me again, so what are you _doing_ here? You expect me to believe this is some kind of coincidence?"

Catra laughed. "Oh, oh this is rich, this is beautifully typical. Everything has to be about you, right? What, you think I tracked you down and executed some intricate plan to put your sister into a coma and wriggle my way into your family, just to tick you off? Get over yourself, Adora!"

"You crash uninvited back into my life after ten years and want me to _get over myself_ , like I've got no right to be upset, like you have any right to even be here—and you're telling _me_ to—"

"No. Nope. I'm not telling you anything. I'm out of here." Catra shoved past all three of them, grabbed a leather jacket off the coatrack, and stormed out the door, slamming it behind her.

"That was a leather jacket," Adora heard herself saying, "she's wearing leather and you still think Perfuma is marrying her?"

Silence in the foyer for a long moment.

"It's snowing out there," Micah said, looking a bit blank and stunned. "She doesn't have a car."

"Go after her, I've got things here," Angella said, putting an arm around Adora.

Micah followed Catra out the door.

Adora dropped onto the staircase and started sobbing.

***

Snowflakes drifted lazily around Catra, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, wishing she'd worn a better coat. Or taken the time to grab her new scarf and gloves. That just hadn't been in the cards, though. She couldn't have stayed in that house another second.

The clomp of her shoes was the only sound in the dark neighborhood. She had no idea what time it was, but every window she could see was black. Most people had even turned off their Christmas lights. Her apartment was on the other side of the city, and cabs didn't patrol suburbs like this.

It had been a long time since Catra had found herself alone on a dark street with nowhere to go, but she'd survived it before. She could do it again.

Somehow.

She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.

After only a few minutes, she heard a car coming up behind her—crawling, really. Instead of gliding past her, it came to a stop and rolled down a window.

"Catra?" called Micah Queen. "Sweetheart, you're gonna freeze. Let me drive you home."

_I am not stupid enough_ , Catra told herself firmly, smoothing down her hair, _to refuse to get in this car._

It still took her a second to make herself open the passenger door.

"My apartment's all the way on the other side of town," she said, not looking at Micah as she buckled her seatbelt. "If you can get me to a train station, that'll be enough."

"It's not like there's much traffic at this time of night," Micah shrugged. "I don't mind taking you the whole way."

She sighed, gave him directions, and slumped back into her seat.

After a few minutes of driving, Micah broke the awkward silence.

_"Is_ that a real leather jacket?"

"Perfuma gave it to me," Catra snapped. Was that the first outright, deliberate lie she'd told the Queens? Doubling down on the false engagement was a stupid, stupid idea, she knew that. She was going to get caught, it was inevitable. But at this point, she would have rather died than admit that Adora was right.

Micah was looking at her sideways, unconvinced.

"Leather's actually more environmentally friendly than plastic fibers," Catra added defensively. She'd heard someone say that once; hopefully it was true. "And it's not like I paid someone to kill a cow just for me. The jacket was secondhand." Actually the jacket was stolen, depending on how you looked at it, a souvenir of the darker days of her early adulthood. But Micah definitely didn't need to know that.

"It's fine, Catra. You don't have to defend your wardrobe to me," Micah said gently. "Or to Adora, either. She was completely out of line, talking to you like that. She's just… worried about Perfuma. We all are."

"She doesn't believe Perfuma could ever love someone like me, but she's wrong." _Just because_ you _don't love me doesn't mean nobody ever could_ , she wanted to scream.

No one ever _had_ , but that didn't mean no one would.

"Adora's not very good with… emotion stuff," Micah sighed.

"She never has been," Catra said. "Hasn't kept her down, though, has it? She got herself a perfect family and a perfectly set up little life, just as soon as she got the weight of _me_ off her back."

Micah turned to her, as much as he could while still driving, his expression earnest and concerned. "Catra, Adora has never once spoken of you as a weight she had to get rid of, or as someone she thought was unlovable."

"Yeah? How _has_ she spoken of me?"

"Like someone she missed. Someone she loved."

Catra rubbed absently at the place on her pinky finger where she'd once worn a ring. The indent of it had stayed for months, after it was gone. "If she loved me, she wouldn't have left me."

"Catra…"

"There's a train station right there, you can drop me off." When Micah tried to speak again, she rode right over him. _"Just drop me off there."_

"Okay," he sighed, pulling over at the train station. "Please be careful getting home."

"Thank you for the ride, Mr. Queen," she said with sharp, flawless courtesy, and slammed the car door behind her.

***

Adora didn't know why she was crying. She couldn't put a name to any of the emotions trying to burst out of her, only that there were a lot of them.

"Adora…" Angella sat down next to her on the stairs, putting an arm around her. "Oh, darling, I've never seen you cry like this. What on earth happened between you two?"

"It doesn't matter," Adora gasped. "It doesn't matter now."

"It clearly does!"

"No." Adora wiped her face with her hands, trying to take deep breaths. "What matters is keeping her from hurting Perfuma."

_"Hurting_ her? Adora, Catra saved Perfuma's life. They're in love, they're getting married—"

"What proof do you actually have of any of that?"

"Well—the police said—and the nurses—"

"And what proof do _they_ have, other than Catra's word, that things happened the way she said? And this supposed engagement—Catra's not wearing a ring. Is Perfuma?"

"Not that I noticed," Angella said slowly.

"Has Catra, I don't know, showed any photographs of them together? You said a few of Perfuma's friends had come to the hospital—did any of them know about Catra?"

"No," Angella said, frowning. "But darling, why would she lie? What reason could she possibly have?"

"I don't know. Catra's always up to trouble, always, and maybe _half_ the time I understand what she's doing or why." And she'd missed that, oh she'd missed Catra. "But she's smart, she's resourceful, she can pull off anything she sets her mind to." Adora's tears were trailing off as her emotions clarified, cemented. Her job was to protect the family, and that made Catra the enemy. The thought hurt, hurt enough to spark a fresh wave of tears, but it was the truth.

Angella opened her mouth to speak, expression penetrating and shrewd, and Adora knew she was going to ask why Adora didn't want to believe Catra was engaged to Perfuma. It was a question she couldn't answer, a question she didn't want to think about, so she talked over it.

"How is Perfuma doing? Has anyone seen her today?"

Angella's lips thinned; she wasn't impressed by the evasion, but she allowed it. "Yes, we were all there this morning. Her body seems to be recovering quickly. Hopefully her brain won't be far behind."

"Good." Adora closed her eyes. "That's the important thing." Her sister, her family, those were the important things. And Catra was a threat to them.

Pulling Adora closer, Angella played soothingly with a bit of hair fallen from her ponytail. She spoke with the gentle, cautious tone Adora had heard a lot in her first year or so in the family, when she did crazy, inexplicable things, weird little re-enactments of the past.

"Adora, I have no doubt that Perfuma means a great deal to you. It's also very clear to me that at one time, Catra meant a great deal to you, too. How do you feel about her now?"

Adora took a gulping breath, refusing to let it become a sob. "I don't need her now."

"That's not quite what I asked."

"It doesn't matter. None of it matters now." Adora stood up, sliding out of her mother's arms, and ran upstairs to her room.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a trans character being misgendered in this chapter, though she's not actually there to hear it.

Adora slept fitfully, waking at every tiny noise and dropping back into stressful, disorienting dreams—mostly about fire, Catra, and falling from horrifying heights, in various combinations. She woke to bright sunlight and the shriek of the downstairs smoke alarm, which meant her mom was cooking breakfast.

By the time she came out of the bathroom, showered and dressed, her eyes heavy but no longer trying to stay closed every time she blinked, breakfast was well under way. And Adora had a plan for her day.

She was going to find proof that she was right about Catra, and get her away from her family.

Around the dining table, Queens of all ages were tearing into pancakes, bacon and scrambled eggs like piranhas. Adora took the last open seat, between Mermista and Glimmer, and began fighting for her share.

"Adora! You're home!" Frosta jumped out of her chair and ran around the table to throw her arms around Adora, nearly knocking the plate from her hands.

"Hey, squirt!" Adora kissed the top of Frosta's head. "It's not like I was gone that long."

"You sure took your time getting back, though." Glimmer leaned out of her own chair to hug Adora as soon as Frosta let go. "I'm so glad you're _finally_ home safe!"

"If you two knock over the juice, I'm throwing you out in the yard!" Angella cried, moving a pitcher out of range of Bow and Mermista's arm wrestling match.

"Tiny pancake delivery!" Micah announced, bustling in with a plate of coin-sized pancakes for Entrapta.

"Thanks, Dad!" she said, much too loudly. The chaos had apparently been too much for her, so she'd put on her noise-cancelling headphones. Thus armored, she began buttering her tiny pancakes with an expression of perfect serenity.

Just the average Queen pandemonium, Adora thought with a soft smile. Her family.

"Adora," Micah said, sitting down and helping his plate, "I forgot to ask last night, did the Himmelsteins have a date in mind for their appraisal?"

It took Adora a beat too long to answer. It was a _dream_ , she realized in dismay, she had only _dreamed_ that she left the estate sale business and became a firefighter. It was all mixed up with the fire-themed nightmares, but somehow she hadn't questioned it when she woke up. That part had felt completely real, and—oh, it had been such a relief, she had been so happy… But it wasn't real. She was never going to be a firefighter. She was going to buy dead people's furniture, because that was what her parents needed her to do.

"No specific date yet," she finally managed, after Micah had glanced up, confused by her lack of reply. "Sometime after the holidays. You know how it is."

"That's for sure." Micah squinted at her. "You all right?"

"Tired," Adora said, waving off the question. "Hey, uh, how did it go with driving Catra home last night?"

"What? Dad drove Catra home?"

"I saw she was gone this morning, I just thought she went to work…"

Ugh, she should have waited for a more private moment, Adora realized. Too late now.

"It didn't go great," Micah said warily. "She made me drop her off at a train station."

"Oh. So you don't know where she lives?"

"She did give me directions, actually. Why?"

"I wanted to go talk to her," Adora said. "Privately," she said with a pointed glance at all the eyes now fixed on her and Micah.

Micah grimaced in agreement.

"What happened last night?" Glimmer demanded.

"Adora and Catra had a fight!" Frosta said. "It woke me up. I heard the whole thing."

Mermista raised her eyebrows. "Geez, Adora, how did you manage to start a fight with someone you'd known for five seconds? That's usually _my_ thing."

"She's actually known her, like, her whole life," Frosta said. "You know her favorite foster sister Catra? It's the same one!"

"Frosta, shut up! This is not your business!"

"But that's… great, though, isn't it?" Bow, distracted, got his arm smashed to the table by Mermista. "Ow!"

"Yeah, why were you fighting with her?" Glimmer sounded dismayed. Why did Glimmer care? Adora wanted to shake Frosta for opening her mouth.

"This is between Adora and Catra, you other girls stay out of it," Micah said. "Hold tight, Adora, I'll try to write down those directions, if I can remember them."

"While you're out," Angella said, helping Entrapta wipe syrup out of her hair, "could you go to Perfuma's apartment and just check on things there? Turn down the thermostat, make sure the water's not running, that sort of thing. I got the address and a key from her friend Seneschal at the hospital."

"Sure, no problem." Adora stuffed as much breakfast into her mouth as she could while Micah was writing, washed it down with black coffee, and got up to go.

"No! Stop! You have to open your presents!" Frosta yelled. "I got you the best present and Christmas was two days ago and you still haven't opened it!"

"Fine," Adora sighed, "I'll wait until after presents. I need more coffee anyway."

***

Catra woke up at a quarter 'til noon, thanked God she had the day off, and rolled over to go back to sleep—only for Melog to bat at her nose and yowl that he needed breakfast this instant.

"Ugh, fine," she said, got up, and immediately tripped over the cardboard box from the hospital containing Perfuma's coat and purse.

Huh. She'd forgotten about those.

Catra poured dry kibble into Melog's bowl, and swore back at him when he cussed her out for not giving him wet food. Then she pulled the purse—a woven burlap-looking thing with fringe—out of the box.

If Catra was going to get serious about upholding the engagement charade, Perfuma's purse would be a motherlode of valuable information. Things Perfuma's fiancee ought to know, like what kind of lipstick she wore, and what bank she used, and where she _lived_.

With Melog talking to himself into his food bowl as he ate, Catra unzipped the purse and dumped it out onto the bed.

Perfuma's wallet was green and shaped like a leaf. It only held three dollars in cash. Catra pulled out Perfuma's ID, and found her eye color was listed as hazel. Hazel! She touched the smiling face on the ID card, charmed. The wallet had a few little photographs in clear sleeves—Perfuma with her florist coworkers in front of the shop's sign, a couple pictures of plants ( _plants!_ did Perfuma think of them as friends, or were they just pretty?), and a Queen family photo that looked a couple of years old.

In addition to the wallet, there was a pen with a big fake flower taped to it. Keys on a Captain Planet keyring. A broken bead bracelet. Tea bags. Candy. Floral-scented deodorant.

And a can of cat food.

Catra stared at it for a moment in dawning horror, then scrambled for a map to find the address on Perfuma's ID, where a cat had been waiting for its dinner for two days.

***

Micah had remembered the directions perfectly; he was good with that kind of thing. Adora parked at the curb in front of Shady Poplars Apartments and took a moment to evaluate Catra's home. It was nothing fancy, that was for sure—unimaginative architecture, timeworn brick, an empty concrete courtyard—but it looked decent. No broken windows, no piles of trash. Adora couldn't imagine that CTA token-takers earned great money, but it looked like Catra was getting by.

How had she ended up in that mundane, random job? Catra had always been full of grand ambitions. She was going to be a rock star, or a lawyer, or the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. Someone powerful, someone important.

And Adora was going to be a firefighter, or a professional soccer player, and they would have a house together with a pool and a fireplace and a stable full of horses. Did anyone actually ever get the life they dreamed about when they were a kid?

Swallowing against a suddenly tight throat, Adora got out of the car and started toward the building, only then realizing she didn't have an apartment number. There didn't seem to be a front office or any kind of doorman…

A shouted swear word drew her attention to the only occupant of the slush-filled courtyard. A man about her age, with a magnificent brown mustache, was doing some kind of maintenance on a small sailboat up on a trailer. A sailboat with… smoke damage?

"Excuse me," Adora called, approaching the boat, "do you live here?"

"Not only denizen but lord and master am I!" the man called down. "Or at least, part-owner. Unofficially. Christopher Hawkins, Jr., at your service, though I am known to all and sundry as C-Hawk. How can I help you?"

Adora's eyebrows rose. "Well, as part owner, C-Hawk, I guess you know Catra Weaver?"

"Do I know her? Catra Weaver, sunrise upon my sea, my most precious pearl of the deep? If anyone can be said to know her, blessed enigma that she is, then I do have that privilege—and more privileges besides." He waggled his eyebrows at her.

"Privileges?" Adora felt like she'd swallowed something cold and slimy.

"The privilege of her company, if you take my meaning, as well as the privilege of escorting her to events of high glamour, and back again to our intimate abode." He gestured at the apartment building. "We are, as the saying goes, _an item_."

"You're dating Catra," Adora said flatly.

"Thanks be to Poseidon, I am." The man smiled dreamily at the sky for a moment, then whipped tickets of some kind from his jacket. "This very night we shall be attending the Ice Capades together! Though she is not currently at home, thus dimming the beauty of the morning, I can give her a message tonight, if not sooner!"

"That won't be necessary."

Adora went back to her car, slamming the door, and gripped the wheel so hard her knuckles creaked. She just sat there a moment, face hot and stomach churning.

If Catra _was_ involved with Perfuma at all, it sure looked like she was cheating on her.

***

Perfuma's apartment was in an even crappier building than Catra's, though it was prettier, with trees and ivy that would be nicely green during the warmer months. Right now they looked grey and dismal, but so did everything else.

Catra let herself in with the key from Perfuma's purse, and looked around at the home of her Princess Charming.

The first phrase to come to mind was "hippy-dippy twaddle."

The million houseplants were not a surprise. But there were also candles everywhere. Colorful beaded lampshades. Crystals. _So many crystals_. Tons of ugly draperies, and—was that _macrame?_

It was charming, Catra tried to tell herself. There was nothing wrong with being a bit of a hippy-dippy airy-fairy weirdo. It was cute. This was fine. Catra could never live like this with a straight face, but that was fine. It was fine.

"Here, kitty kitty," she called, stepping further into the apartment. "Come out, kitty! Dinner's here!"

No cat in sight, but Catra could smell a hint of litterbox. Poor thing had to be around somewhere.

She moved into the kitchen—a tiny claustrophic space decorated with bundles of dried herbs—and found a can opener.

"Kitty kitty kitty," she called again, tapping the opened cat food can on the counter. "Spspsps!"

Was that movement? She went still, listening. Had the poor cat been trapped in a closet or something all this time? There was definitely movement coming from behind a door at the back of the kitchen.

Catra pushed the door open—and smacked Adora in the face.

_"Augh!"_

"What the—" The door swung closed again, and Catra just stared at it for a second. The muffled swearing on the other side of it was definitely Adora's voice.

Gingerly, Catra pushed the door open again. It didn't lead to a closet, but back to the front door area. Adora was half-collapsed against the opposite wall, cradling her nose in both hands.

"What are you doing here?" Catra demanded.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Adora retorted, voice mushy and muffled. "Ugh, lemme through!" She pushed past Catra into the kitchen, opened the freezer, and began digging out ice cubes with one hand, still cradling her nose with the other. Mostly she just succeeded in knocking a box of—was that _tofu ice cream?—_ out of the freezer onto the floor.

"Move, idiot." Catra pushed her aside and bundled the ice into a towel she found hanging from the stove.

Catra did _not_ feel bad about Adora's face. It had been an accident, and she kinda deserved it anyway. But helping Adora when she was hurt was a stronger instinct than breathing. Catra hardly knew what her hands were doing until they'd already done it.

Adora, pressing the ice bundle gingerly against her nose, muttered, "I don't think you _quite_ broke it..."

"You're welcome." Catra picked up the fallen box—yep, tofu ice cream, what was wrong with Perfuma?—and put it back in the freezer.

"What are you doing here?" Adora said again.

Catra threw her hands in the air. "Geez, Adora, what do you think I'm doing here? Watering the plants, feeding the cat, the kind of things you do when your fiancee's suddenly in the hospital!"

"Feeding the…? Perfuma doesn't have a cat, she's allergic!"

Catra had a moment of deep and tangled confusion, because yes, she was lying and no, no cat had shown itself, but at the same time there was the cat food and there was the smell of the litterbox and there _had_ to be—

—a cat, pure white and almost as fluffy as Melog, mewing plaintively as it curled around the doorframe into the kitchen. Adora and Catra both watched in silence as it hopped up onto the counter and started wolfing food out of the opened can.

Catra, casually stroking the cat's back, turned to Adora with a glare of vindicated annoyance.

"Huh," Adora said, and stared at the cat, nonplussed.

The moment stretched, both of them watching each other while pretending to watch the cat.

Adora was _here_ , in front of her, and it still felt surreal. She was even wearing a red jacket, just like the last time Catra had seen her—not that strange, red was Adora's favorite color, but it was even almost the same cut. Despite herself, Catra looked for a pinky ring on Adora's hand. There wasn't one.

How many times had they played this game of chicken after a fight, dancing around each other, waiting to see who would apologize first? It had never been Catra, not unless she could do it in code, disguise an apology as something else and hope Adora saw it.

_You left me. I'm not going to apologize for_ you _leaving_ me _._

The phone, a white plastic model hanging unnoticed on the kitchen wall, rang shrilly and made both of them jump.

Adora, who was closer, picked up the phone and said, "Hello?"

Catra inched closer; she could make out a probably-male voice on the other end, but no words.

"Yes, this is Perfuma's apartment," Adora said. "I'm her sister. Yes, _her_ sister, and _her_ fiancee is here as well." A longer spate of the male voice, Adora's expression growing darker by the second. "Hey, halfwit," she snapped, "do I need to come burn the words 'Perfuma is a woman' into your forehead? 'Cause I can do that. Yeah, maybe it _is_ best that you talk to Catra. Jackass."

She thrust the phone at Catra, who nearly fumbled it in surprise and confusion.

"Uh, hello?"

"Hi." The male voice was flustered and a little prissy. "What I'm _trying_ to explain is that here at Mercy Hospital, we encourage friends and family—especially of longer-term patients—to come donate blood. You never know who'll need it, perhaps even your own, erm, loved one."

Under the phone was a phone book, and sticking out from under the phone book, Catra realized, was a handwritten set of cat care instructions. _Remember she's deaf_ was scribbled into a margin, and at the bottom, _Thanks so much for looking after Fluffy over Christmas, XOXO Spinnerella_.

"Mmm-hmm," Catra said into the phone, and casually eased the instructions all the way under the phone book.

"Great," said the hospital employee. "I'll put you down for 11:30."

"What, today? That's in like, an hour…" But the line was already dead.

Catra growled and hung up the phone. "Apparently I'm giving blood. What was the deal with him? Did they get Perfuma's file mixed up with some random guy's? _That's_ reassuring from a hospital."

Adora frowned at her, an expression of dawning and deepening consternation. "Do you… not _know?"_

"Know what?"

"Perfuma's transgender. That's how she ended up in foster care, her birth parents disowned her when she insisted on living as a girl."

Catra felt her stomach go into complete freefall. Half of her brain was just screaming a series of question marks, because _what_? But the other half knew she had exactly one second to salvage this, or the jig would be entirely, irrevocably up.

"Of course I know that," she snarled. "I just, I thought her paperwork was all updated. Unless this jackass goes around looking inside patients' underwear, it shouldn't have mattered."

Because Perfuma _had_ changed her paperwork, right? Hadn't her ID said 'F' instead of 'M'? Or would Catra have noticed? She hadn't been looking for that. It had definitely said _Perfuma_ , a massively feminine name…

"Uh-huh," Adora said, jaw set. "Then again, you'd rather have a boyfriend than a girlfriend anyway, right?"

"What?" That was the possibly most bizarre thing Adora could have said, and Catra let every bit of her genuine confusion and disgust show. "No? I have literally never wanted a boyfriend in my life. I would actively pay money to avoid having a boyfriend. What are you even getting at?"

Adora looked suddenly uncertain.

"Are you… what, saying I'm dating Perfuma while thinking of her as a guy? That would be a freaking weird thing to do, since I'm the biggest lesbian since Sappho!"

"Well," Adora said, stammering a little, "Perfuma's still got a penis, unless she changed her mind about having children in the last six months, so—"

"I know," Catra said coldly. "And _I'm_ not the one implying I shouldn't be interested in her because of it."

"That is not what I meant!"

She'd managed to put Adora on the defensive. Excellent. Catra tried not to look smug.

"I'm gay too, and I'm her sister, I've never—I'm the last one who would—stop trying to turn this back on me!"

The smug feeling was abruptly knocked out of place. Adora was gay, too? Of course Catra had _hoped_ —way back when—she'd had plans, even, to test it, to find out, but then everything had gone wrong…

"What?" Adora said, in response to whatever Catra's face was doing.

Everything had gone wrong, because Adora abandoned her. Adora saw a chance to escape the hellhole they lived in, the one they'd been able to bear because they were together, and decided it was okay to leave Catra there alone.

And even with that old, ceaseless fury sizzling under her skin, the idea that Adora might have, could have wanted her back was enough to steal her breath. Suddenly she was aware of exactly how many inches stood between her and Adora, and how easy it would be to step forward, to imagine how Adora's expression might change and where her hands might go—

"What?" Adora said again.

"Are we done," Catra said, her voice almost normal, "having a really weird conversation about your sister's genitalia now? 'Cause I've got blood to donate."

Adora made an inarticulate, exasperated noise, stabbingly familiar. "Fine. I'll come donate too. I can drive."

"Awesome." Catra stepped forward and past, toward the front door, crowding Adora against the kitchen doorway for just long enough to say, "I look forward to watching you bleed."


	9. Chapter 9

Catra spent most of the ride to the hospital absorbing the fact that Perfuma was transgender. It did clarify a few things. Perfuma's big hands, her very modest chest, her boyish appearance when she was first adopted…

It wasn't that Catra _minded_. Perfuma was the same person, regardless of the arrangement of her privates. But it certainly highlighted how little Catra knew about who that person actually was. Perfuma had gone through this huge, life-defining struggle—Catra couldn't imagine how hard it had been, to embrace or even _understand_ herself at such a young age, to stand up to her parents about it and be completely rejected, to let herself love a new family after the first one betrayed her. And now she was trying to build a life on her own, from what Catra had gathered, without even her adopted family's support. Maybe just to see if she had the strength to do it. And Catra had had no idea, had seen no sign of all that anywhere.

Because Catra, despite all her fantasies and her little secret observations, didn't really know Perfuma at all.

Adora let her get away with silence all the way to the hospital, though she kept looking at Catra sidelong and opening her mouth before closing it again.

They were separated for the inevitable torrent of invasive questions, but put next to each other again for the actual donation. Catra distracted herself from the queasy knowledge that a needle was entering her skin by watching Adora get even queasier about it, pale and sweaty.

"Aww, do you need your mommy to come hold your hand, Adora?"

"I can totally do that," said the very pretty phlebotomist. She took Adora's hand while her co-worker did the poking, which cheered Adora considerably, and made Catra want to spit.

"All right, you ladies just keep pumping your fists off and on, and we'll come check on you in a minutes," the phlebotomist said when they were both successfully bleeding into their horrible little blood-bags, and left them alone.

"So Catra," Adora said, oh so casually, "when did you start seeing Perfuma?"

"September 17th," Catra said immediately, because that was in fact the exact day she started _seeing_ Perfuma at the train station.

"Three months? That's fast."

"You have no idea," Catra muttered, and then more loudly, "But when you know, you know, right?" She narrowed her eyes at Adora. "Right? I mean, haven't you had it happen that way? Or have you always gone the sensible route, three dates before first base, six weeks of excruciating awkwardness waiting to see if the magic will happen, before throwing in the towel and slinking away?"

Adora's cheeks went scarlet. She looked away, expression indicating she might have swallowed a bug.

Catra cackled. "Hit the nail on the head, didn't I?"

"We're not here to talk about my love life."

_Well, we're sure not going to talk about mine_. "Tell me the truth, Adora. You still got that V-card, don't you? Hanging onto it all this time, waiting for your perfect princess—You know they expire, eventually, once it goes stale nobody will want it anymore—"

"You shut up or I'm gonna—"

"What?" Catra smiled widely. "Come over here and make me?"

"How are we doing over here?" Not the pretty phlebotomist, but her matronly coworker, looking Catra over with concern. "You're a little flushed, Miss Weaver, and your eyes are dilated. How are you feeling?"

_"Fine!"_ Catra raised a panicked hand to ward the woman off.

"You let me know if you feel the least bit faint, okay? And you, Miss Queen, how you holding up?"

"My arm is tingling, can we loosen this band?"

Eventually the phlebotomist bustled away, and they sat in silence for a moment, Catra wondering if she dared go back to the previous topic of conversation.

"We should go see Perfuma," Adora said, "once we're done here. Since we're already at the hospital."

"Of course."

"We need to get your picture, you know. You and Perfuma, for the mantle. You have some kind of picture of you together, right?"

"No," Catra said. "We haven't, um, done any pictures. I don't like getting my picture taken."

"That's true, I remember that," Adora murmured.

"I'm not very photogenic."

"That is _not_ true."

Catra snorted. "Like you have a bunch of pictures of me lying around."

"Of course I do. I mean, not a _bunch_ because there weren't that many to start with, but all the ones I could find."

Catra stared at her, looking for the punchline, the barb.

"Looks like you're all done, Miss Weaver!" The phlebotomist started unhooking needles, winding up lines. "Keep pressure here, and hold your arm up." The matronly coworker was doing the same to Adora.

"I take it you didn't keep any pictures of me," Adora said, almost cool and quiet enough to mask the hurt underneath.

"Sit right here for a minute and drink this orange juice."

Catra had already opened her mouth to retort that of course she hadn't kept any pictures, she'd burned or trashed or left them all behind, and then she remembered. She did keep one. And she hadn't let herself look at it in years, but she knew exactly where it was. She'd once broken a man's wrist to keep him from taking it from her.

She knocked back her orange juice like a shot, snatched up her purse, and made for the door.

"Miss! Come back here, you need to sit still—"

"I'll get her," Adora said, and made it two steps across the floor before she stopped, white-faced and glassy-eyed.

Catra heaved a heavy sigh, and turned back just in time to catch the idiot before she broke her skull open on the linoleum.

***

"I've never seen anyone just _drop_ like a bag of flour like that! Are you sure you're not brain damaged? It would explain a lot if you were brain damaged." Catra hadn't stopped laughing about it from the moment Adora regained consciousness, and Adora had to keep her teeth clenched as they walked to keep from giving Catra a piece of her mind.

"Behold the champion swooner!" Catra continued, lifting Adora's hand in the air before she snatched it away. "She's beauty, she's grace, she's fallen on her face. The blue-ribbon loser of consciousness!" She put a hand to her forehead and tipped her head back, making a haughty 'swooning' noise. "Of the two of us, I think I am definitely the better candidate for all future blood donations."

_Fine, yes, you're better at giving blood than I am! Give the girl a prize. One thing I did not miss about you, Catra_ , Adora thought _, is how competitive you are about_ everything.

Okay, maybe not strictly true. There had been times she'd missed having a truly cutthroat competitor; the Queens were mostly too nice to each other to be a real challenge, even at silly board games.

But it was harder and harder, as Catra continued gleefully rubbing Adora's face in her 'weakness,' for Adora to believe that sweet, peaceful, agreeable-to-a-fault Perfuma could have fallen in love with someone like her.

More than ever, she was not convinced Perfuma _had_.

They could hear murmured conversation as they approached Perfuma's room; clearly they weren't her only visitors.

"—a TV in here? She's in a coma, what good is it to her?"

"Mermista, geez, you don't think that's a little insensitive? She might be able to hear." That was Glimmer.

"So get her a radio."

"Maybe she'd like us to sing to her."

"Great idea," Adora said as they came through the doorway. "Hey, Catra, what's Perfuma's favorite song?"

Angella answered first. "Puff the Magic—"

"—Dragon," Catra joined in. "Yeah, that's it."

"What's Perfuma's favorite ice cream?" Adora asked.

"Tofutti Cuties," Catra said flatly.

"Favorite Spice Girl?"

"B-baby."

"Everyone likes Baby, bad question," Adora muttered.

"I like Scary Spice," Mermista said.

"What's Perfuma's favorite flower?"

Catra spread her hands, looking annoyed. "I'm pretty sure she loves them all equally!"

"Hey, what the heck is going on?" Glimmer demanded.

"Why the interrogation, Adora?" Angella asked.

Adora turned to take in her gathered family members—Angella, doing a crossword at Perfuma's bedside; Glimmer, Bow and Mermista, playing cards across the other, empty bed; Granny Razz, looking up owlishly from her knitting. She was having an unusually good day, if she was knitting.

"Catra doesn't have any pictures of Perfuma," Adora said. "She doesn't have a ring. She doesn't have any proof she and Perfuma even know each other."

"I have a key to her apartment!"

"You also have a man in your building who says you're sleeping together."

_"What?_ Oh, for—are you talking about Sea Hawk?"

"Mr. Christopher Hawkins, Jr., yes. He says you're _an item."_

Catra snorted in what seemed to be genuine, uncontrollable laughter. "Yeah, well, he also says he invented aluminum foil. The man is delusional."

"Oh, all this fuss and anger… oh dear, oh dear…" Razz set down her knitting and put a hand to her chest.

Adora saw Catra go a little pale. Bow was the first to reach Razz and crouch next to her.

"You okay, Granny? Hey, everything's all right. Adora, is it really necessary to do this here and now?"

"Catra's such a sweet girl," Razz said plaintively. "She's part of the family. I'm sure she could prove it if she wanted to."

All eyes turned silently to Catra.

"Yeah," Adora said, crossing her arms. "I'm sure she could."

Silence stretched, Catra visibly casting about for something to say, and Adora started getting a sick feeling in her stomach. Was she actually _right?_

Then Catra's expression changed, as if she'd just remembered—or figured out—something important. She lifted her chin. "Perfuma," she said defiantly, "has one testicle."

"What?" Glimmer squawked.

"No way," said Mermista.

"Yes way," Catra said. "A few months ago, she and her friend Seneschal were playing basketball, and he had a… pencil in his back pocket."

Bow shifted his legs, looking queasy.

"Well, someone's got to… check," said Mermista.

Glances exchanged all around, mostly silent, horrified refusals.

"Oh, very well," Angella said at last. "I'm her mother." She lifted the sheet.

A few minutes later, the entire family filed into the elevator to get lunch, still wide-eyed and shaken.

"Well," Razz said cheerily, "she was going to get rid of them eventually anyway, we can call this a head start!"

"Ugh, Gran!" Mermista said.

Adora just watched Catra, left behind in the hospital room, smiling brightly as the elevator doors closed between them.

***

After spending most of the day hanging out with Perfuma and the Queens—sans Adora, who found reasons to be elsewhere—Catra got home after dark, to a yowling song of cat demands.

"Just a minute, Melog." As if drawn by a magnet, Catra walked straight to her bed, pulled a box out from under it, and pulled out the locket.

It was a heavy, round weight of gold and red stones—garnets?—a little gaudy to her eyes now, but as a kid she had thought it was gorgeous. She'd stolen it from Ms. Weaver's room when she was thirteen, and actually gotten away with it. Though she'd searched Catra's things, Ms. Weaver hadn't found the locket, tucked inside a rolled-up pair of socks. Adora, Catra remembered, had indignantly defended her. She never knew Catra really had taken it.

Catra pretended her hands weren't shaking as she opened the locket for the first time in years. There was no one here to prove they were shaking. No one would ever know.

The picture inside was from a mall photo booth. In the rest of the strip of photos, Catra remembered, they'd been laughing and making faces, but this one—in this one, for just this one second, they sat with their foreheads touching, arms around each other, smiling but quietly, intimately.

When Catra left Ms. Weaver's, she'd told herself she was taking the locket to sell, that she didn't even remember what was in it. She started wearing it because she learned quickly that on the streets, the only safe place for anything was directly on one's person. One night, a drunk idiot had seen the shiny thing and tried to snatch it off her, getting a broken wrist for his trouble. In the end that had actually worked in her favor; the drunk idiot's arch-rival had been amused enough to give her a place to sleep for the night, which kept her out of the rain, which kept her looking decent for her job interview the next day at the Chicago Transit Authority.

Catra looked at the photo in the locket for a long time, until Melog inserted himself squarely between her and it, meowing for his dinner.

She dropped the locket in the box and shoved it back under the bed.


	10. Chapter 10

The next day, Catra worked a 4:00-am-to-noon shift at the train station, crawled home and straight into bed.

She woke only an hour and a half later to a knock on her door.

"Who is it?" she yelled without raising her head from the pillow.

"My dearest Catra, you are alive! What then kept you from my side, moon of my tides?"

"What?" Catra staggered to the door, checked to make sure her baggy sleep shirt and shorts weren't exposing anything, and opened it. "Sea Hawk, what are you talking about?"

"I speak, of course," he said, sliding past her into the apartment, "of the grand adventure we two were to share last night!"

She closed the door and blinked at him without comprehension.

"Our _date!"_ he said finally.

"What date?"

"The Ice Capades! The adventure would have been much better shared than alone, I think, and your ticket was non-refundable, I feel bound to mention—"

"I never said I would go on a date with you!"

"You certainly did!"

"I did not!"

"Did so!"

"Did not!"

Another knock at the door. _When did I win a popularity contest?_ She clapped a hand over Sea Hawk's mouth. "Who is it?"

"Hi Catra, it's Bow!"

Catra swore viciously under her breath and started shoving Sea Hawk across the apartment, toward her closet.

"What is this, a contender for your hand?" Sea Hawk said indignantly.

"Neither of you will _ever_ have my hand."

"Let him fight me, if he has honor!"

"Get in the closet!" Catra shoved him in amongst the hanging shirts and stabbed a finger into his face. "Not a word out of you."

Looking daunted, he let her close the door.

Bow, when she let him in, looked far too chipper for—what time was it, anyway? Two pm, according to the microwave.

"Hey, good afternoon! Did I hear voices? I didn't mean to barge in if you have company…"

"TV," Catra blurted. "Is on. Next door. Do you want some coffee? I want some coffee."

"Oh, I'm fine," Bow said, following her into the kitchen. "Catra, there's, uh… something you should know."

Catra froze in the middle of turning on the coffeemaker. "What?"

"The night you visited Perfuma in the hospital… I was outside the door. I know the truth about you and Perfuma."

Catra backed a few steps across the kitchen and fumbled her way into a chair, feeling sick. "Ah. Okay. I guess that's it, then. I'll tell them everything—" oh, Adora was going to be so smug and so _angry,_ "—unless you think I should just… go, disappear—"

"What? No. Don't tell them a thing!" Bow pulled up the other chair, the one no one but Melog had ever sat in. "Catra, listen. It hit the whole family hard when Perfuma went away and stopped talking to us. And then this happened—she's back with us, but only in the worst possible way, and we could still lose her without ever being able to make things right." He took Catra's hand. "But having you, someone Perfuma loves, someone who knows all the things we don't, saw all the things we've missed—it gives her back to us, in a way."

"But… none of that is _true_."

"The Queens don't know that. Well—except Glimmer." He smiled sheepishly. "I didn't _exactly_ tell her, but I told her enough that I think she's figured it out. I know she doesn't want to blow the whistle on you, either."

"And what about when Perfuma wakes up and the truth comes out?"

"Then we _will_ have Perfuma back, and it won't matter so much. And I'll tell them I wouldn't let you confess." He smiled crookedly. "I'm too much a part of the family for them to kill. I can draw aggro."

Relief was washing out the sick feeling. Bow was keeping the secret, wanted her to keep the secret.

For now. But now that someone knew, it was only a matter of time before everyone knew. For the first time, Catra really felt the truth of the fact that all of this was, inevitably, going to blow up in her face. There was no version of things that didn't end with the Queens all hating her—except Bow, apparently, and maybe Glimmer. She could do what Bow and Glimmer wanted, and maybe keep two friendships, or pull the plug herself and lose them all. No contest there.

When had it become so important that she keep the Queens? It had been a long time since Catra cared whether someone liked her or not. And it wasn't just about Adora—but _Adora_ , oh god, she was going to lose Adora all over again. There wasn't a thing she could do to stop it, only delay it.

"Catra?" Bow said, concerned, still holding her hand. Catra had drawn her shoulders in, she realized, breath coming faster. She stopped that immediately, straightening her back and lifting her chin.

"Okay," she said. "Sure. If you think it's better to keep going along with it, I'll do that." _I'll kick the can down the road as long as I can_.

"Thank you. Hey, c'mere." Before Catra knew it, she was being hugged again. Stupid Queens and their stupid hugs. She grumbled under her breath and didn't resist.

Bow was almost to the door when he suddenly turned around and said, "Oh! How in the world did you know about Perfuma and the, you know, the one…" He made a cupping gesture, looked at his own hand and recoiled from it, squirming.

"Seneschal told me all about it at the hospital. I didn't even know what he meant at the time, until I found out about Perfuma being trans and it finally clicked."

Bow's mouth dropped open. "You didn't _know_ she's… I didn't even think about that!"

Catra laughed. A family where people could forget that someone was trans, or at least forget that other people didn't know and accept it easily as them… Yeah, she'd kick the can down the road, to keep that for a little longer. "Any other surprises I should know about?"

"No, I think you're covered now. But here's my number in case anything comes up."

They traded numbers, and Catra finally got him out the door.

Then she marched to the closet and snatched it open.

"All right, Sea Ha— _what_ are you doing?"

Sea Hawk looked up from the floor of the closet and gave her a deer-in-the-headlights grin. In his lap was a girlie magazine, open to the centerfold.

_"Where did you get that?"_ Catra shrieked, as if she didn't know exactly where she'd hidden it.

"It fell!" Sea Hawk yelped. "Off the shelf! Right into my lap! Right open to this page! I barely touched it!"

Catra snatched the magazine away from him and smacked him with it. "Get out!"

"A strange thing, surely," Sea Hawk said as he crawled out of the closet and struggled to his feet, dodging blows from the magazine the whole time, "for a maiden to have in her closet—perhaps left here by a previous paramour? Though that's just as strange, really—"

"Get out of my apartment, Sea Hawk!" She pushed him toward the door.

_Knock knock knock._

_"Seriously?"_ Catra held Sea Hawk still and raised her voice. "Who is it?"

"It's Adora."

Catra clawed at her face. "Doesn't anyone use the phone anymore?"

"I do," Sea Hawk said.

"I'm not talking about 900 numbers. Get back in there!" She shoved him back into the closet and closed the door on his plaintive face.

_Adora,_ of all people. Catra went to the door, raised her hand to open it, gave a silent scream at the sight of the magazine still in her grasp, and darted back to the bed to shove it under the blankets.

"Catra?" called the voice at the door.

"Just a minute!" She whipped off her baggy sleeping shirt, replaced it with a black sweater she'd only worn once, and pulled the nearest pair of jeans over her ratty shorts.

She moved toward the door, then ran back to the bedroom for a headband, and did the best she could for her hair with her fingers. Back to the door, where she stepped into a pair of sandals and draped a jacket over her arm. She could pretend to be just on her way somewhere, if she needed an out.

She took a deep breath… and opened the door.

"Hey, Adora."

Adora just stared at her for a second before saying "Hey" in a slightly strangled voice. Was she blushing?

The sweater was very form-fitting, Catra remembered. And she wasn't wearing a bra. The idea that Adora might be affected by that made Catra feel a little giddy.

"So," she managed after a moment, "more interrogations to conduct?"

"No." Adora cleared her throat. "Actually, I have an engagement present for you."

Catra's eyebrows rose. "You really shouldn't have."

"I didn't. It's from my parents."

And they were making Adora deliver it, as penance? Catra could get behind that.

"It's furniture," Adora added. "Want me to bring it up? Do you have a spot for it?"

Something thumped loudly from the closet.

"What was that?"

"…Cat." _Stay in that closet, Sea Hawk, or I swear I will spill your blood. If Adora finds you here…!_

"Big cat," Adora muttered.

"The biggest. Look, I, um, I think you should bring it to Perfuma's apartment!"

Adora cocked her head. "You don't even know what it is."

"Well, anything would look nicer in Perfuma's apartment. So nice, all the plants."

Melog was now growling at the closet door.

"Um, okay," Adora said. "I'll take it to Perfuma's apartment."

More thumping.

Catra pulled the door closed behind herself, a move that pushed her all the way into Adora's personal space and forced Adora a step back into the hallway. "You know what, I'll come with you."

***

"This is the new truck," Adora said, leading her across the slushy courtyard to a small, mildly battered-looking yellow moving van. "Well, new to us. Micah bought it yesterday, emergency replacement for the hunk of junk that's still in a shop somewhere between here and Peoria."

It was a tall truck, and Catra, climbing into the passenger seat, had taken Adora's offered arm before she realized it. They both paused for the tiniest moment, as if simultaneously noticing Adora was handing Catra up into the truck like a lady into her carriage. Then Catra plopped into the seat, looking straight ahead, and tried to ignore the lingering warmth on her hand.

She was so busy ignoring it, she jumped when Adora hopped into the driver's seat and slammed her door, but Adora didn't seem to notice.

"I, um," Adora said, starting the truck, "I guess I owe you an apology. For the whole, um. Accusing-you-of-lying thing."

"Damn straight you do." Catra squirmed uncomfortably. "But I can understand it a little, I guess. It really is the weirdest coincidence in the world, Perfuma being your sister. Whatever you think me and Perfuma's relationship, though," _and whatever you think of me later, when you find out there isn't a relationship_ , "it really is just weird luck. Chicago's a small world, I guess."

"A small world of 2.8 million people." One hand on the wheel, Adora unwound her scarf in the comparative toastiness of the truck's cab. Catra flicked her eyes away from the little triangle of throat this exposed. "Sometimes I wonder if luck is ever just luck, you know? I've always _wanted_ to believe there was something else, something bigger. God, karma, destiny. Something."

"If so," Catra muttered, "destiny's got a lot to answer for."

"I didn't even think you'd stayed in Chicago. You're not in the phone book."

_You looked?_ Catra glanced at Adora, and away again. "No, I'm unlisted. To, uh," she cleared her throat, "to keep Ms. Weaver from finding me. Not that she'd probably care, especially after all this time, but I prefer to be certain."

The glance Adora gave her then was unbearably sad, and made Catra want to smash something. "I'd hoped she might let you go, after I was gone. That you might get adopted or at least moved to another foster home. So much of the time she only seemed to keep you around as a lever on _my_ behavior…"

Catra snorted. "Don't flatter yourself. She loved making you feel responsible for everything, because that worked as a way to control you. She wanted to control me just as badly, I just had different levers." Fear, instead of duty and eagerness to please. "With you gone, those threats to move me dried right up. She knew I wouldn't care anymore."

A short, awkward silence, thankfully broken by the truck reaching Perfuma's apartment building. Catra hopped down from her seat before Adora could make an attempt to help her.

"You're parked too close," Catra said, gesturing to the car in front of them along the curb, as she met Adora at the back of the truck.

"We'll need room to unload this." Adora rolled up the door, revealing a mint-green loveseat embroidered with white vines.

"Um, yeah," Catra said, "that's gonna fit in with Perfuma's stuff a lot better than mine."

"Eventually it'll all be both of your stuff, though," Adora pointed out, a little teasingly. "So resign yourself to it now, Mom and Dad will definitely notice if you get rid of it. Have you and Perfuma decided where you're going to live?"

Catra was saved having to answer by the sound of approaching sirens. She covered her ears, wincing, as a fire engine swept by, all flashing lights, wails and jarring honks.

Adora didn't wince. She turned to watch the fire engine pass, multicolored lights bathing her face, and even stepped into the empty street to keep it in sight as long as she could, her expression sad and wistful and hungry. The last time Catra had seen her look like that…

Oh. It had been the day the social worker took her away to Bright Moon Academy, and she'd watched out the car window as long as she could, hoping to catch sight of Catra, to see her waving goodbye.

Catra hadn't. She'd refused to see or speak to Adora at all that day, and for the first time, Catra admitted to herself how much she regretted that.

"So," Catra said, when the fire engine was gone and Adora turned back to face the furniture truck, "you help your dad sell dead people's furniture. Instead of riding in one of those, like you always dreamed."

Adora swallowed, and smiled, and Catra knew a practiced mask when she saw one. "Oh, I got the firefighter thing out of my system in high school. At Bright Moon, I spent two years in the junior firefighter program—it was fantastic, but I definitely learned how hard and dangerous the job actually is."

"Yeah. And you've never been up for hard, dangerous things. That's not your bag at all." Catra raised an eyebrow.

Adora's cheeks darkened. "That," she pointed the direction the firetruck had gone, "is not what my family needs. What they need is help with the business. One by one, all the others have let Dad down—no, it's not fair to say that," that had the air of reminding herself, maybe repeating something from her mother, "but they've all turned it down, one by one. Entrapta and Perfuma don't have the temperament for it, Mermista went into marine biology, Glimmer decided to be an _astrophysicist_ of all things—"

"There's still Frosta," Catra suggested.

"She's only eleven. Dad shouldn't have to wait another decade or more before he can retire. If she's even interested." Adora leaned against the back of the truck, pressing mittened hands to her face. "His grandfather started this business, it's Queen _ & Family_! Dad wants to pass everything he's worked so hard for down to his kids."

"He wants," Catra repeated. "What do _you_ want, Adora?"

Adora glared at her. "I want to show my father I appreciate what he's done for me. I want to inherit a _family business_ , my gosh, Catra, whoever thought either of _us_ would have a chance to do that?"

"And that's worth watching a little more of your soul ride away into the distance every time a fire engine goes blaring by without you in it."

"What do you even care?" Adora snapped. "You made it very clear ten years ago that you didn't give a single damn what I did with my life."

"I don't," Catra said shortly. "You're going to do what you want regardless, anyway. You're good at that."

Adora stared off into the darkness for a minute. When she spoke again, her voice was tight. "Catra… I wish we could be friends again. I wish things could be the way they used to be. I know they can't. But we _have_ to find a way to get along. I refuse to be the one who makes a chasm in my family—and I refuse to let you do it, either. Can't we call a truce? For Perfuma's sake?"

Catra leaned against the back of the truck, next to Adora but as far from her as she could get, and forced herself to discard the first three things she wanted to say.

Adora wanted a truce. Adora wanted to pretend she hadn't stabbed Catra through the heart, or at least wanted Catra to stop picking fights about it, for the sake of peace and harmony in the family Catra wasn't actually going to get to join.

And God help her, Catra wanted that, too. Adora and her whole family would hate Catra soon enough. However long she had before things blew up, Catra didn't want to spend it fighting with Adora. A little bit of time pretending nothing awful had happened between them sounded… pretty good right now.

"Fine," she said, and pretended not to notice Adora's shocked expression. "Truce. For Perfuma's sake." She held out a hand, not looking Adora's direction; Adora crossed the distance between them and took it.

And used it to haul Catra forward into a hug.

Stiff and stunned, Catra didn't manage to say or do a thing in response. After only a moment, Adora stepped back again, withdrawing her warmth and strength and softness and gingery scent almost before Catra could notice she'd had them. Almost.

Then Adora was hopping up into the back of the truck with a thump. "Come on," she called, "we've got a couch to move!"


	11. Chapter 11

Moving the loveseat—getting it onto the rolling dolly, down the ramp from the truck, and into the elevator to Perfuma's floor—was challenging enough to demand all their attention, mundane enough that there was little to say and nothing to fight over. Which was good, Catra thought. They both needed the breather.

Catra backed through Perfuma's door, steering the loveseat, and frowned when it suddenly stopped moving.

"Adora?"

"Ugh, it's stuck."

They rocked the sofa back and forth, tilted it, shook it. If anything, it only wedged tighter.

"Welp, we tried," Catra said. "I guess I live here now. On a diet of cat food and Tofutti Cuties. Eventually I might have to eat the plants."

"There may still be hope for your rescue," Adora said dryly.

"Pray save me, O great hero."

"Step back," Adora said. "I'm gonna try an old trick my dad taught me."

"Yeah? What trick?"

"Push really hard."

Catra snorted and stepped back, out of the loveseat's path. Adora disappeared from view, crouched behind the loveseat.

"Okay," Catra said after a moment, "go ahead and push."

"…I did."

Catra snickered. "You want some help, O great hero?"

She heard Adora sigh. "Okay. On three?"

On three, Adora pushed, Catra pulled, a piece of wood popped free of the doorframe, and the loveseat slammed through the doorway like a train.

"Oof!" Catra tumbled backward and crashed into an end table, knocking a half-dozen vases of carnations onto the floor.

Perfuma, it became clear in retrospect, had been whimsically turning white carnations into a flower rainbow via food coloring in the water. The whole set shattered like a chandelier, sending a spray of glass, flowers, and brightly-colored dye across the carpet.

Adora scrambled around the loveseat and joined Catra in staring down at the carnage.

"I categorically deny all knowledge of this," Catra said.

"So do I," Adora said. "We were never here. It was burglars."

"They stole the carnations," Catra said, "and left a sofa. They left it _right there_." She pointed at where the rainbow mess was soaking into the carpet.

Adora made a peculiar strangled noise, and Catra realized she was laughing. After that it was a lost cause; they were both cackling, bent over their aching stomachs.

They cleaned up the glass, put the loveseat over the stains, watered the surviving plants, and took care of the cat. By the time they got back outside to Adora's truck, it was dark—and a green hatchback had parked with its nose inches from the truck's back bumper.

"What? No! Look at this jerk!" Adora gasped.

"I told you you were too close."

"Check the meter, how long until the meter—"

"It's after six, Adora. They can stay all night if they want."

Adora stared at her trapped truck in dismay. Catra couldn't help laughing.

"My place isn't that far," she said. "Come on, we'll hoof it, then you can use my phone to call a cab or a sibling or something."

The words popped out so naturally, and why shouldn't they? She and Adora had agreed to a truce. And it wasn't as if she could do anything else without being a jerk. It just felt so… surreal. A week ago, she hadn't thought she would ever see Adora again, had tried—with the mincing care of someone functioning around a broken leg—not to think about Adora at all. And now she was casually inviting her to her apartment.

"I guess it's that or curl up in the driver's seat for the night," Adora said, and gestured grandly down the sidewalk. "Lead on, kind rescuer."

Catra snorted. "That's the wrong direction, dummy. This way."

The breeze off the river was icy, snapping the flags on the Michigan Avenue Bridge as they passed. The riverfront sidewalk had been cleared of snow and salted, which made it a better choice than some of the less-maintained routes that might have been quicker. Christmas lights still twinkled in the trees; these few days before New Year's were still technically 'the holidays' in a peculiar limbo fashion. Catra let her head fall back, looking up, up, up at the skyscrapers looming above them, towers of light in the night sky. The wind whipped her hair around her face, and she shivered, trying to hunch into her leather jacket.

"You look cold," Adora said, glancing at her sideways.

"Probably because I am cold," Catra admitted with a half-laugh.

"Why are you running around in that jacket in December? Don't you have anything heavier?"

"This is my favorite jacket in the world," Catra said. "I won it in a fight."

"Of course you did." Adora rolled her eyes affectionately.

"That wasn't a joke," Catra said. "This meathead named 'Lash' kept trying to move in on my territory. I made him regret it. And I took his jacket."

"Move in on your _territory_?" Adora was half-laughing, waiting for an explanation Catra wasn't about to give. Belatedly, she remembered she'd told Micah that Perfuma gave her the jacket. She could only hope he and Adora wouldn't compare notes.

"It's not like you're in a parka, either," Catra said instead.

"Nah, but this coat's reversible. I'm wearing the warm side now."

"You are such a dork," Catra said indulgently. Another gust of wind made her hiss between her teeth.

"Here," Adora said, unwinding her scarf. "It's no substitute for a good coat, but it's got to help a little."

"Fine, if it'll make you shut up." The scarf was warm from Adora's skin. It smelled like her.

"The mittens, too, I can put my hands in my pockets."

"So can I!"

"I have better pockets than you do."

"We're competing on pockets now?"

"Just put on the mittens."

Catra rolled her eyes and slid her hands into the mittens. Like the scarf, they were warm from Adora's hands. Catra tried not to think about it. "Hey, do you remember Mitten Kitten?"

"Oh my gosh," Adora said, smiling the sweetest, dorkiest smile Catra had ever seen. "I had completely forgotten about Mitten Kitten."

Mitten Kitten had been one of their pointless little childhood games; they'd come up with it one winter when they'd each lost a mitten and been afraid to tell Ms. Weaver, so they shared one pair of mismatched mittens for months. Whoever's turn it was to have the mittens was the Mitten Kitten and would mew and purr, rubbing her face on the other and pawing at her with mitten-paws. Sometimes Adora would let Catra have the mittens even when it wasn't her turn because, she said, Catra made such a cute kitten.

"You have to meow now," Adora said, poking at Catra's ribs. "You have the mittens. That's the rules."

"I'm not going to meow!"

"Then give me my mittens back."

"You're the one who wanted me to take them!"

"One meow. You have to be the Mitten Kitten if you're going to wear the mittens."

She really didn't want to give up the mittens. Catra rolled her eyes and deployed one of the realistic imitation meows she used to talk to Melog sometimes. "Mrrao?"

Adora clutched her chest. "Oh my gosh, Catra. That was so cute I am going to literally die."

"Almost as cute as you stepping in dog poop just now."

"What?" Adora squawked, and spun in a circle, trying to look at the bottom of her shoe. "Uggghhh!"

Catra cackled. "Look at you, not even house-trained and you still got adopted! It's a miracle."

Adora grumbled under her breath, trying to scrape off the dog poop on the edge of the sidewalk.

"How did that happen, anyway?" Catra asked. "Getting adopted."

Adora gave her a wary look, but finally answered. "Glimmer was my first friend at Bright Moon Academy. I would go home with her and Bow for holidays and stuff. Angella and Micah…" She smiled and shook her head. "I think it was a strain for them to hold off on offering to adopt me as long as they did. It's just their automatic response to meeting a child without parents."

Catra let the pulse of bitterness and jealousy and pain pass through her, trying not to hold onto it. It really was exactly how she'd told Micah—Adora got a happy ending as soon as she got Catra out of her life.

"What… what happened, with you, after I left?" Adora asked hesitantly. "Did you finish school?"

Catra nodded. "My eighteenth birthday was one week after graduation."

"I guess it would be about then. Lucky!"

"Yeah. Ms. Weaver wanted me to stay on, help her with the younger kids." Catra let out a long breath, white and cloudy on the air. "I knew I'd end up as her indentured servant. I knew she'd never let me leave. So the night of my eighteenth birthday, I packed a bag and went out the window."

"No way!"

"It was very dramatic," Catra admitted. "I dunno. It felt necessary at the time. In the morning I called the police myself to tell them I was an adult and left of my own volition, so she couldn't get me listed as a missing person or something."

Adora shook her head, looking impressed. "You were always braver than me."

They walked in silence for a minute.

"She tried to get me to call you," Catra said. "Write to you. Anything to get you to come back. I wouldn't do it."

Adora let out a slow, shaky breath. "Thank you for that, I guess. Though I wished you _had_ called or written. Just, you know. Not for her."

In the days before Adora left, she had cranked up the dial on every guilt trip, power trip, and manipulation she knew how to do—and then refused to reach out to Adora at all afterward. As if that were a punishment. Taking Adora's departure personally was one of the few things Catra and Ms. Weaver had ever had in common, and it brought them oddly close, for a while, in a not-very-healthy way. Catra felt weirder about those days, that little period of time when she thought Ms. Weaver might love her after all, than anything else in her life. But they'd ended all too quickly, the first time Catra screwed something up and Ms. Weaver shouted that she would never be as good as Adora.

"You never tried to contact me," Catra said.

"You made it pretty clear you didn't want me to."

"I know." Catra's throat tightened. "I guess I… I wanted you to try anyway."

Adora looked like she was trying hard not to cry. Catra thought that ought to make her feel better. Hadn't she wanted Adora to hurt like she did? But even then, ten years ago, when Catra would have lashed out with teeth and claws if she could have, and had to make do with words, it hadn't actually made her happy to see Adora suffering. She'd only felt worse, sick and sad and hating herself.

"You've got to use your words, you know," Adora said, forcing a smile. "I'm sure you hear that from Perfuma a lot."

"…Yeah, all the time."

"People can't know what you want unless you tell them. Me even less than most."

Catra snorted. "Yeah. Don't know what I was thinking."

More silence.

"I'm sorry," Adora said, very quietly. "I wish I had tried. I just couldn't… I couldn't stand to hear you say things like that again. Like you said before I left. I couldn't risk it."

Catra, who might very well have done exactly that, couldn't think of a thing to say.

"So," Adora said brightly, "you like working at the CTA?"

Catra gave a half-choked laugh, grateful for the topic switch. "I hate it," she said, "but it pays the bills."

They passed a couple pressed up against the riverfront railing, trying to crawl down each other's throats. Catra laughed at Adora's double-take.

"Shield your virgin eyes, honey," she said, reaching up to block Adora's view with one mitten. Adora huffed and pushed it away.

"There's rumors about automation replacing all of us," Catra continued. "Seems inevitable, really. I'm sure I'll find some other dead-end job to hate when the time comes."

"What do you do? Besides collect tokens?"

"Watch a lot of trains go by," Catra said dryly. "A lot of people going somewhere while I sit still." She looked up again at the familiar view of the skyscrapers. "You travel, right? For the business? You drive around picking up furniture and stuff."

"Yeah, some. Not very far, usually. Rockford, Peoria, maybe Kalamazoo."

"I've never left Chicago. Not once in my life."

Adora frowned and kicked a rock off the sidewalk. "If you could go anywhere, where would you go?"

Catra glanced at her sideways. "Don't laugh."

"I won't."

"I mean it."

"I won't laugh. Pinky promise."

That stopped Catra in her tracks, breath frozen in her chest. Adora was holding out her hand, fingers curled except her pinky. Everything in the world seemed to hold still while Catra pulled off her mitten to link their little fingers together.

"I'd go to Disney World," she blurted, suddenly unable to lie like she'd half-intended. "In Florida, the one with all the different kingdoms. I'd ride every single ride, see everything there is to see. Space Mountain. Tower of Terror. Alien Encounter. Go inside the big golf ball. Even the stupid teacups." The ferocity in her own voice surprised her. Her finger was locked around Adora's hard enough to hurt. "Everything the rich kids talked about and brought in pictures of and made fun of us for never getting to see."

"That sounds amazing," Adora said, soft and earnest. She smiled, an oddly strained expression. "Maybe you and Perfuma can go for your honeymoon."

Catra turned away, jerking her finger free, and stuffed her hand back in the mitten. "Yeah," she managed after a minute. "Yeah, maybe."

The sidewalks had been salted all the way up to Catra's apartment building. But not the courtyard, which was an unbroken sheet of gleaming ice.

"Okay," Adora said, "we need to think strategically. The shortest path to the door is going to start… here, I think. If we move slowly enough… These boots are pretty good at not slipping, what are you—" She did a double take at Catra's feet. "Have you been wearing _sandals_ all this time?"

"Yep," Catra said, "and I'm perfectly comfortable since I can't feel my feet at all anymore."

"Maybe I should carry you…"

Catra rolled her eyes and marched out onto the ice.

She began to slip almost immediately, but threw her arms out and caught her balance. Adora eased onto the ice next to her, and did better for the first few steps, only to hit a slick patch and jerk herself straight with a hiss of alarm. Catra stuck out her tongue as she eased past her—and that quickly, it became a race.

A very _slow_ race, full of yelps and gasps and windmilling arms, but Catra was winning, right up until Adora slid into her from behind, grabbing her in a bear hug to keep from knocking them both over.

"Sorry!"

"No, you're not!"

"Ack, don't let me fall!"

"Don't take me down with you!"

They both narrowly stayed upright, clinging to each other, arms tangled—both laughing so hard they could barely breathe, much less keep their balance. Adora got herself steady, only for Catra to slip; she ended up more or less climbing Adora, trying to get her feet back under her.

And then they were suddenly still, breathless and flushed, their faces inches apart, arms around each other's waists and shoulders. Catra tried to shift her weight, and felt her feet slide even closer, as if the ice itself were nudging them together.

"Catra," Adora whispered—and then wiped out on her back on the ice.

"Are you okay?" Catra managed between near-sobs of laughter.

Adora groaned. "Was that ripping sound my jeans or my muscles?"

"Your dignity, I think." It was her jeans; they were torn wide open at the back now. "Give me your hand." She dragged Adora the last few steps to the friction matting outside the door to the apartment building, helped her up, and teased her all the way inside and up the stairs.

She didn't ask what Adora had been about to say, and Adora didn't volunteer.


	12. Chapter 12

Adora hadn't gotten a good look at Catra's apartment when she first arrived with the loveseat; really, Catra had barely opened the door. Now, limping in with her ripped jeans, she gave it an interested once-over. It looked like a studio, bedroom and living room in one. There was a lot of black and a lot of battered secondhand furniture. An ominous red lava lamp; a CD stand full of band names in scratchy fonts; a prominently displayed Edward Scissorhands poster. The wilting, unevenly decorated Christmas tree was one of the saddest things Adora had ever seen.

"Yes, Melog, I'm home," Catra said, smiling as a huge, fluffy grey cat leaped into her arms. She glanced warily around the apartment, as if she were looking for something, but stopped when her gaze landed on the trash can—was that a _bloody_ paper towel on top?—and just cuddled her cat closer, smiling and muttering about what a good boy he was.

The good boy in question had noticed the presence of a stranger, and twisted in Catra's arms to peer at Adora with a questioning mew.

"Melog, this is Adora," Catra said. "Adora, meet Melog."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance." Adora held out a hand for Melog to sniff. He touched it delicately with his nose, then grabbed it with both front paws—using just enough claw that Adora didn't dare resist—and pulled it forward to strop his face against it, purring fiercely.

"Wow," Catra said, blinking. "I have never seen him take to someone like that. Not even _me_."

"Well, hello!" Adora laughed in bewildered delight as the cat squirmed out of Catra's arms and into hers. By the time he settled, she had a huge, fluffy scarf-replacement purring around her neck, licking her ear with a tickly sandpaper tongue. "Aw, I love you too, sweetheart!"

"Of course he likes you best, the traitor," Catra muttered. "The phone's over there."

"If anyone will be able to hear me over the outboard motor here!" It was ridiculous to be this pleased that Catra's cat approved of her, but somehow it felt like Catra herself must like Adora a little bit, for Melog to even give her the time of day.

Adora dialed the Queen house phone, politely pretending not to notice Catra frantically tidying in the background, and explained the situation to Glimmer when she picked up.

"So you're at Catra's place?" Glimmer sounded oddly… speculative. "You've been with Catra all afternoon?"

"Yes… Delivering the loveseat, like I said. Can you come get me or not? Or Bow or Mom or somebody?"

"No, I can come. I'll be there soon."

"Thanks, Glim." Adora hung up and turned around to find Catra grunting and wrestling with the bed against the far wall.

"It folds up into a couch," Catra said sheepishly. "I just haven't bothered to do that in like… a year, and now it's stuck."

"Well, don't worry about it on my account, we can just sit on the bed."

Catra sighed, and unfolded the bed again, sitting down at the foot.

"When I first moved in with the Queens," Adora said, sitting down carefully so as not to dislodge Melog, "I slept on the couch for almost a month. Had to wait for Mermista to move out before there was a room for me."

"If it was the same couch I fell asleep on at your house, it's more comfortable than my bed. You lucked out."

Adora wondered how often Catra slept over at Perfuma's. The bed she'd seen there would be a tight fit for two, but Catra had always liked to snuggle. The thought had Adora's throat closing up, her mind flashing back to that strange moment on the ice that she could not afford to think about.

Had Perfuma ever slept over _here?_ On this thin, saggy fold-out, with Catra in her arms?

Adora stood so quickly, Melog growled and dug his claws into her shoulders. "I need to use the bathroom."

"Um… sure, it's that door there."

Adora leaned against the sink in Catra's tiny, dingy bathroom with its skull-and-crossbones shower curtain, pulling herself together.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she told the cat still clinging to her shoulder.

He squinted at her in the mirror, as if fully aware she was lying.

"Okay, but I don't know _why_ ," she whispered. "It's _good_ that Perfuma has found someone to love. It's _good_ that that person is someone that I—I—I mean, I've wished I could see Catra again for a long time, it even looks like we might become friends again, eventually. That's a good thing, that's a _great_ thing! _So why I do feel sick every time I think about them together?"_

In her heart Adora was still certain, dead certain, that Catra and Perfuma were wrong together. She'd had to let go of the idea that Catra was lying about the engagement—she'd proven herself when put on the spot, and after all, that was a crazy thing to think, anyway. People didn't just go around pretending to be engaged to strangers. But Catra and Perfuma just didn't _fit_. Everything about their personalities was a mismatch, and Adora still believed Catra was going to hurt her sister, even if she didn't mean to. Or maybe it was Perfuma who would end up hurting Catra, and that was just as bad.

If there was one thing Adora couldn't stand in the world, it was knowing people she loved were going to be hurt, and not being able to protect them. But there wasn't a thing she could do about this.

Adora sat down on the lid of the commode, let Melog ooze down her arm, and held his purring weight against her chest until she'd successfully bottled down the urge to cry.

When Adora came out of the bathroom, Catra was sitting on the—couch, not bed; she'd gotten it folded up after all—with two steaming mugs.

"Hot chocolate," she blurted, holding one mug out like it might be a bomb.

"Oh, thanks!" Adora took the mug, and spent an awkward moment dithering about where to sit on the couch. Catra was on one end; taking the other end seemed so distant, but the middle seemed invasively close…

Finally she sat at the other end, and they sipped grainy, cheap hot chocolate in silence.

"Remember that time we nearly froze to death on the roof?" Adora said. "We snuck up there in the middle of the night to look at the stars or whatever, and fell asleep, and it started snowing?"

Catra laughed. "One of the few times I ever saw Ms. Weaver actually worried about us. She didn't even take the time to put chocolate in the mugs, just gave us hot water to drink, and put us in a hot bathtub to drink it."

"We barely both fit in the tub. We had to have been, what, fourteen?"

"I think so, yeah. Knees and elbows everywhere, and the shower running in our eyes…"

And even though they'd both been blue-lipped and shivering, Adora remembered, Catra had been laughing like it was the best, biggest adventure, and so Adora had laughed, too, even though she was secretly afraid they would die. They'd twisted around in the tub until they found a comfortable position—Catra leaning back against Adora's chest, arms and legs tangled together in the warm water. Adora had kind of wanted to stay like that forever.

"You can stay if you want," Catra said, not looking at her, such an odd mirror of what Adora had been thinking that she couldn't immediately figure out what she meant. "You can have the couch-bed, I have an old futon I can put on the floor."

"Oh." Adora bit her lip. "Glimmer's already on her way…"

"Right. Yeah." Catra stood up abruptly. "Well, you can't go back out in the cold in those ripped pants. Let me find you something…"

Awkwardly, Adora finished her hot chocolate while Catra dug through a chest of drawers. _I don't care about the pants_ , she wanted to say. _Come sit next to me_.

Instead of saying anything, she tipped her head back against the couch, and thought about how beautiful the stars had been the night they almost froze to death.

The next thing she knew, she was waking up, slow and disoriented.

"Hey, Adora," said her favorite voice in the world, a gentle singsong, and she could have sworn she felt fingers brush down her cheek.

For a second she thought she knew exactly where she was. But when she opened her eyes, she wasn't squeezed into a child's bunkbed with Catra. She was sitting on a couch, her neck aching, and she and Catra were grown, and Catra was going to marry her sister.

"Glimmer's here," Catra said, jerking her head toward the door, where Glimmer was waiting with her arms crossed. "Time to go home."

"Yeah," Adora sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Time to go."

***

Catra walked Adora and Glimmer out to Glimmer's car, keeping hold of Adora's arm so she wouldn't slip on the ice again. She still looked warm and soft and sleepy. Catra tried not to look at her.

Or at Glimmer, after she winked at her for some reason.

On her way back up the stairwell, with Adora safely sent off, Catra ran into Sea Hawk.

"You might have simply told me, dearest Catra," he said, looking more serious than she'd ever seen him. "All this time I thought I had some chance of winning your heart—how wrong I was! It is all perfectly clear to me now. We were never destined to be, by no fault of either party."

"What are you talking about?"

He gave her a look. "I saw you earlier, making your way across the courtyard with that beautiful young lady. I may not know much in this world, but _some_ things I know when I see them."

"No, it's—it's not like that—not with her—"

Sea Hawk raised an eyebrow. "Still covert, are we? Particularly with my father around? Quite understandable, my swee—my friend. Not to worry, your secret is safe with me." He held out a hand. There were bandages on it. "I hope we can still be friends?"

"Friends. Sure, why not." Catra sighed and shook his hand.

"And now, as your friend, I am wholly available to assist in your romantic pursuit of the lovely—"

"Don't push your luck, Sea Hawk." Catra brushed past him and continued up the stairs.


	13. Chapter 13

Catra found Scorpia at a bench near her usual hot dog stand. Judging by the way she raised one white eyebrow, Catra looked about as wild as she felt.

"I need advice," Catra blurted. "What if I'm still in love with Adora?"

Scorpia frowned and glanced back down at the pink scarf she was trying to untangle. "Adora? Didn't she leave like a year ago? I didn't even think you liked her."

Catra blinked. "What…? No, no, not coworker Adora! Perfuma's sister Adora."

"The coma girl? When did you fall in love with her _sister_?"

"When I was like… three, pretty much."

Scorpia set down the scarf with a huff. "What?"

Catra paced back and forth in front of the bench. "Adora was my foster sister. Now she's Perfuma's adopted sister. She doesn't think that's a coincidence but it _is_ , and she thought I was lying, which I am, but now she doesn't think that anymore, and we called a truce even though I'm still mad as hell that she abandoned me, but I might still be in love with her like I was for most of my life."

"So… tell her that?"

"I can't! She thinks I'm engaged to her sister!"

"You're not, though."

"But she thinks I am! And the only reason we're not trying to kill each other is because she finally believes me! If I tell her the truth, she'll hate me forever, and so will the whole family—Angella and Micah and Razz and Entrapta and Frosta and Mermista and Glimmer—although I think Glimmer knows, actually—and Granny Razz will have a heart attack and _die_ and I will for sure never see Perfuma again and if she ever wakes up she'll think I'm the biggest creep who ever lived."

"Catra."

"What?" Catra stopped pacing to look at Scorpia.

Scorpia tented her hands together thoughtfully. "You know, at least when I joined the Marines, they _knew_ I was joining them."

"The Queens know I'm… joining them." Was that what she was doing?

"No. They think Perfuma's fiancee is joining them. That's not who you actually are."

"Thanks, Scor. I hadn't noticed that. Now tell me what to _do_."

Scorpia stood up and put her hands on Catra's shoulders. "Pull the plug, wildcat. If Granny dies, she dies."

"You're sick."

"I'm sick? You're cheating on a vegetable."

Catra sat down on the bench and moaned into her gloves while Scorpia patted her shoulder.

Scorpia might be right. Telling the truth might be the right thing to do. Too bad Catra was completely incapable of doing it.

***

"Ace versus jack! I win again." Adora collected her cards and dealt another hand of War—one from her pile, one from Perfuma's. "And this is… eight versus three. Another win for me! You're really bad at this, Perfuma."

The hospital was as dark and quiet as hospitals got. In the dim light, Perfuma looked peaceful, if not exactly well. Her hair was getting oily, despite the family's attempts to care for it, but her forehead bandage had been downgraded to a barely-visible butterfly bandaid. If it weren't for the hospital gown and oxygen cannula, she might have been dozing on a lazy weekend.

"Twelve versus six. I am definitely winning this game of War," Adora said. "You always were unlucky at cards. What's the saying? Lucky in cards, unlucky in love? You got it the right way around, then." She dealt another hand, and lost, four to seven. With a huff of mock-annoyance, she added the cards to Perfuma's pile. That had been the last of her own cards, so she picked up her pile and began to shuffle it.

"Destiny has a lot to answer for," Adora murmured. "That's what Catra said, when we were talking about whether luck is really just luck. That must be something you two disagree on—I know you're all about trusting in forces beyond what we understand and all that. Honestly, it's hard to think of anything you two _would_ agree on. But maybe that's the appeal? Opposites attract?" Adora shook her head. "I don't know, hon. There's opposites, and then there's just… people with nothing in common."

Catra and Adora were opposites, too, in a lot of ways, but in the way of… waffles and pancakes, Adora thought. The same ingredients, prepared so differently that one turned out flat and soft and smooth, the other crispy and rough and full of holes. Opposites, but with _everything_ in common.

Catra and Perfuma were more like waffles and jellybeans. They didn't go together at all.

"So how did you luck out, huh?" Adora said softly. "How did you find her when I couldn't, and get her to love you?"

Perfuma, of course, did not answer.

"Do you remember, my junior year at Bright Moon, Glimmer was in the running for valedictorian—she's still furious about coming in second—and you were prom queen? And I was taking remedial everything and just praying to graduate." Adora shuffled her cards again, first overhand and then a riffle. "It's not like I didn't have friends. Mostly you and Glimmer and Bow. Everyone else… really only cared about me as long as I was winning soccer games. So by golly, I won soccer games. But you, _you_ everyone loved. You were the nicest person at the school! Of course they loved you.

"And I never minded that I wasn't popular like you, or smart like Entrapta, or cool like Mermista, or a freaking force of nature like Glimmer. I was fine with that, because I was proud of you! I was proud to be your sister, and I was never envious of anything that you had…" _Until now_.

It was crazy to think that way. It was crazy to even wonder how things might have been, with Catra, if they had stayed together. Or to ask herself how she wanted things to be now.

She looked around, as if someone might be listening, but of course they were alone.

"How about this," she said, very quietly, knowing she was being absurd. "Next hand of War, winner gets Catra. Agreed?"

She flipped the cards. A two versus a queen.

"All right," Adora muttered, "we'll go best out of three…"

***

"Catra, have you and Perfuma decided on a honeymoon destination?" Angella asked.

_Disney World_. Catra suppressed the words, glancing at Adora across the table. "No, uh, we haven't decided."

This dinner was the first time she'd been with the whole family since the… testicle incident. To her relief, no one had brought it up. They'd all welcomed her in as warmly as ever, a feeling she still hadn't gotten used to. Not that she'd get the chance to.

"Angella and I went to Italy," Micah said. "Gorgeous. Great food."

"I went to Mystacor," Granny Razz said brightly. "They have cloud beaches. And sorcerers!"

"Sure, Granny," Micah said cheerfully. "I bet it was beautiful."

"You weren't born yet, Micah, but you were there later."

"Is David Copperfield a sorcerer?" Frosta asked. "What's the difference between a sorcerer and a magician?"

"Perfuma looked so good today," said Angella, scooping herself some mashed potatoes. "I really feel like her vibrancy is returning."

"Perfuma should have been a model, or an actress," Glimmer said. "She's got that glow, you know, that charisma?"

"She's very tall." Entrapta was eating a plate of tiny sandwiches, mostly composed of the same ingredients as everyone else's dinner, Catra thought—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, asparagus and carrots—but toothpicked between nickel-sized circles of bread. "Models have to be tall."

"Catra," Micah said, "do you think you could find us a nice girl for Adora? She keeps striking out in that arena."

Adora dropped her fork. "Dad!"

"I, uh," Catra said, swallowing her knee-jerk response that hell would freeze over before she hooked Adora up with someone else. "I don't really know what… Adora's looking for…"

Micah gestured at Adora, inviting her to answer.

Adora rolled her eyes and took a sip of her drink, face red. "Muscles," she muttered in a defiant tone. "I like buff women. Blonde ones."

Mermista laughed. "Narcissistic much?"

Adora tossed her hair. "Can't beat perfection, right?"

"All the great actresses were tall, too," Bow said. "Sophia Loren was five foot nine."

"Marilyn Monroe was five five," Glimmer shot back.

"Well, we all know Catra likes blondes," Angella said fondly. "Mm, these mashed potatoes are so creamy!"

Entrapta was squinting at Adora. "Every girl you've ever dated has been a tiny brunette. Mostly Latinas."

Adora turned even redder, and took a bigger swallow of her drink.

Catra felt her eyebrows rise, and took a bite of her mashed potatoes in lieu of saying anything.

"I need to make a pie," Granny Razz said fretfully. "Berries… We need berries for a pie."

"We'll make a pie tomorrow, Granny," Micah said.

"Yeah, I'll help you," said Frosta. "Can we do apple, though? I like apple pie better."

"Katharine Hepburn was tall," Bow said.

Glimmer glared at him. "Winona Ryder is five foot three!"

"Winona Ryder," Micah said firmly, "could never play Eleanor of Aquitaine."

"These mashed potatoes are so creamy," Angella said.

"Apples _and_ berries!" Razz said brightly.

"I don't know about that, Granny."

"Frosta mashed them."

"All by myself!"

Purely by accident, Catra caught Adora's gaze from across the table. She, too, was trying not to laugh at the chaotic swirl of competing conversations, and the realization made both of them nearly lose the battle. The moment felt startlingly intimate. Catra looked back down at her food, heart pounding. She couldn't stop smiling.

"Greta Garbo was tall."

"Greta Garbo never played Eleanor of Aquitaine!"

"I didn't say she did, 'Trapta."

"Well, what did you say?"

"I said Greta Garbo was tall!"

"Well, everyone knows Greta Garbo was tall."

"That's what I said! Greta Garbo was tall!"

Adora lost it, trying to muffle laughter into her napkin. Angella gave her a narrow look, and moved the wine glass away from Adora's plate. Catra disguised her own cackles as a coughing fit, which prompted Entrapta to smack her smartly on the back.

Dinner time at Ms. Weaver's had always been tense and silent, no one allowed to speak unless spoken to. Catra had spent years thinking that the cheerful, talkative family dinners she saw on TV were one of those media fictions, like people objecting at weddings or waking up with perfect hair. Life wasn't really like that. Families weren't really like that.

Could she really blame Adora for wanting to trade that world for this one? What would Catra have sacrificed, to have this as a kid? She was doing crazy things to have it now.

_I wouldn't have left Adora_ , she thought stubbornly. But she knew suddenly, down to her bones, that if she'd had the chance, Adora would have told her to take it. She wouldn't have, but Adora would have wanted her to, even if it meant leaving _her_ alone with Ms. Weaver.

The surge of shame was overwhelming.

"You all right, Catra?" Micah called. "Do you need some more water? Heimlich maneuver, maybe?"

"No, thanks," Catra said hoarsely. "I've got everything I need."

After dinner—and dessert, and a good hour of just sitting around talking in the living room—Frosta's bedtime rolled around, and the Queens insisted on calling Catra a cab.

"On us, of course," Micah said.

"Oh, no, that's not necessary, if someone can just drop me off at the train station—"

Micah waved this off. "It's worth it to know you're home safe."

Bow leaned toward her and murmured, "Remember how I said it wouldn't kill you to accept help now and then?"

Catra rolled her eyes. "Fine, whatever, if you want to. Thanks."

When the cab honked from outside, the whole family—including Frosta in her pajamas—escorted her to the door, helping her into her jacket and the scarf and gloves she'd left behind days before. Adora opened the door for her with a grand gesture.

"Your carriage awaits, my lady."

"Hey, you're under the mistletoe!" Frosta called.

Catra froze.

"Ha, you sure are." Glimmer pointed at the little bundle of leaves and berries in the doorway.

"You and Adora have to kiss now!" Entrapta yelled. "It's tradition. Christmas traditions are important to family bonding and community cohesion."

Angella shrugged, looking apologetic, but not much. "It is tradition."

Catra's lungs had stopped working. Once upon a time, she'd had a very specific plan for how her first kiss with Adora was supposed to go. This certainly hadn't been it. Part of her balked at the idea of it happening now, like _this_ —another part knew it was a terrible idea for it to happen at all—

Another part, bigger than the other two put together, had just lit up like a bonfire.

Adora was giving her family an exasperated look. But she was also stepping awkwardly closer to Catra. Going along with it.

_Cheek_ , Catra thought frantically, _I'll just kiss her cheek, she obviously doesn't want to do this so I'll make it easier for both of us_ —

But she'd underestimated Adora's commitment to doing things the correct and expected way, especially in front of her family. It was a split-second thing—Catra tilted away, and Adora just followed her, so that the kiss landed squarely on her lips.

It wasn't much of a kiss, of course. Less than a second, barely a moment's pressure. There was no reason Catra ought to feel like a white-hot imprint had been left on her mouth, raising every hair on her body.

The family was cheering and wolf-whistling.

"Yeah, yeah, I ought to charge for the show," Adora called, stepping back.

Without looking at Adora, without looking at anyone, Catra hurried out the door and into the cab.

Three times on the way home, she caught herself touching her mouth. She finally had to sit on her hands to make herself stop.


	14. Chapter 14

Catra eased into her token-taking booth with a groan and collapsed onto her arms.

"Catra? You okay?" Celeste peered over her shoulder from the other side of the booth.

"I'm fine. Just not feeling great." Her own fault, of course. After getting home from the Queens', she'd opened a bottle of whiskey to drown her feelings. Unfortunately, feelings knew how to swim.

"Come get a bagel!" Celeste waved a bag in her direction.

"Ugh!" Catra recoiled, her stomach churning. "Thanks, but I'm having a hard enough time keeping coffee down."

Celeste looked concerned, but the morning rush was starting, and soon neither of them had time to worry about Catra's hangover. Catra collected tokens mindlessly, lining them up in the shape of a question mark on her table.

"Hey, Catra! Do we get a family discount?" Glimmer and Frosta waved from outside her window.

"Hey!" Catra perked up despite herself. "Step on through! You wanna come inside?"

"Oh, can we? That would be awesome!"

Celeste looked up curiously as their booth filled with visitors.

"I'm taking Frosta ice skating," Glimmer said, "while school is still out. Had to stop and say hi to our future sister-in-law!"

"Future what?" Celeste's jaw dropped. "Girl, are you _engaged?"_

Catra wanted to crawl under the table. "I mean it hasn't… really been announced… it's all sort of complicated…" That was a good word for when your alleged fiancee was in a coma, right?

Frosta opened her mouth, but Glimmer bumped her elbow. "She may not be out at work," she said, low and between her teeth, and Frosta closed her mouth.

"You're invited to the family New Year's Eve party tonight," Glimmer said. "Mom forgot to actually say it before."

"Oh, wow, that's really sweet! I'm already going to Celeste's party, though," Catra said. She would have rather gone to the Queens', but she could hardly say that in front of Celeste.

"Hey, what's that do?" Frosta asked, poking at some of Celeste's equipment.

"Oh, I use that to print out transfers. And this is the cash register. Watch this!" Celeste used the next customer to demonstrate their extremely boring job.

With Celeste and Frosta distracted, Glimmer leaned close to Catra. "Hey, um, last night I was wondering—are you Latina? Is that a weird thing to ask?"

_Mostly Latinas_ , Entrapta had said about the girls Adora dated. Catra cleared her throat. "No weirder than my answer, which is—I don't know. Nobody knows."

"How can nobody know?"

Catra grinned, wide and stiff. "Because I was found in a dumpster as a baby."

It wasn't the kind of thing she usually told people, but she'd been off-kilter all morning. Too hungover to censor herself, maybe. And Glimmer's horrified stare was weirdly satisfying. _Isn't that messed up?_ Catra wanted to shout. _That shouldn't have happened to me! Right? No one should have to deal with that!_

"Seriously? You were—but—" Glimmer stammered. "—and someone _told_ you that?"

"No, actually. Me and Adora stole our files out of the social worker's car when we were ten. Adora," Catra added bitterly, "was left at a fire station in a red velvet dress with a bow in her hair." A fire station. Come to think of it, age ten was about when Adora's firefighter obsession had started.

"You were both abandoned," Glimmer said, as if that were a consolation.

"Both abandoned," Catra agreed. "But Adora was given up to find a better life. I was left to die."

Glimmer cocked her head, expression thoughtful, and poked Catra hard in the shoulder. "You didn't, though."

Catra felt her spine straighten. "No, I didn't," she said fiercely, and suddenly felt better than she had all day.

"Hey, this is our train!" Frosta cried.

Glimmer yelped a word that she immediately told Frosta to never say, and they scrambled out of the booth.

The door hadn't even shut behind them before Celeste was grabbing at Catra's shoulders with a manic grin. _"Girl, are you pregnant?"_

Catra rolled her eyes to the heavens. "Yes, Celeste, obviously I'm pregnant," she said, gesturing to her flat, narrow middle.

"That's why you're acting all sick and suddenly you're getting married and—"

"What? No! Celeste, that was sarcasm, I am not pregnant!"

"Oh, right, you're a lesbian anyway, right?" Celeste looked exasperated. "If you're not pregnant, then why are you getting married?"

Catra blinked. "…Love?"

Celeste shook her head, laughing like this was the best joke she'd heard in years, and turned back to her window.

***

Adora held a finger to one ear, trying to block out the noise from the living room so she could hear the phone. Her family were gathered around the television, watching the goings-on in Times Square leading up to the ball drop at midnight.

"Hey, pass those cookies over here!"

"Those are Entrapta's, you'll have to ask her."

"It's still in the sky, you know, just floating there, an enormous magical garden!"

"That sounds lovely, Razz. Goodness, what kind of music is this?"

"I love a good clarinet solo."

"If that's a clarinet, I'm Guy Lombardo."

"What time is it? Shouldn't Glim and Frosta be home by now?"

"Glimmer will be late for her own funeral. Are we letting Frosta stay up this year?"

"Yes, ma'am, of course," Adora said into the phone. "You take care. Thank you!" She hung up and stepped away from the phone into the living room. "Hey, Dad! We got the Van Allen estate after all!"

"Way to go, Adora!" Micah cheered, the rest of the family chiming in. Adora let herself bounce a little as she made her way to a couch; Micah high-fived her as she passed.

Before she could sit down, the front door opened, her missing sisters spilling in on a wave of cold air and chatter.

"There you girls are, we were getting worried!" Micah said.

"It's too bad you can't teleport in this universe," Granny Razz said.

"Ain't that the truth," Glimmer muttered, fighting free of her coat.

Angella got up to help Frosta, who was strangling herself with her scarf. "Did you see Catra? Is she going to come over?"

"Yes and no, respectiv—"

"Catra's pregnant!" Frosta shouted, with the air of someone who had been bursting with the words for hours.

Dead silence in the room, except for the background mutter of the TV.

And then an eruption of noise.

_"What?"_

"Are you sure?"

"How do you know this?"

"Glimmer, explain this!"

"I don't know!" Glimmer cried. "I don't know what she's talking about! Frosta, what are you talking about?"

"I heard her," Frosta said, only slightly daunted by the outcry her words had triggered. "When we were leaving her booth. The other lady asked if she was pregnant and Catra said 'yes, obviously I'm pregnant.'"

_Obviously_ , Adora thought, her stomach somewhere in her shoes. Because that was the only reason Catra would be marrying Perfuma. It all made sense now—the short relationship and sudden engagement to someone she had nothing in common with.

"Adora," Angella said, "you've been spending a lot of time with Catra. Do you know anything about this?"

"No," Adora said, marching into the foyer and reaching for her coat, "but I'm about to find out."

***

The last thing Catra expected to see when she set out for Celeste's party was Adora's battered yellow truck, its driver pacing back and forth on the sidewalk.

"Adora?"

"Catra!" Adora spun, looking like a deer in the headlights. "Hi!"

"Hi… What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know, just…" Adora's gaze snagged on the bottle of bourbon Catra was carrying, festive ribbons tied around it. "You're going to a party."

"Yes…"

"I'll drive you."

"It's not that far."

Adora opened the passenger door to the truck. "It's no trouble."

"You don't even know where—"

"It's no trouble at all! Here, let me help you." Adora took the bottle with one hand, and handed Catra up into the truck with the other.

"Okay, but it's… really not that far…?" Catra told herself firmly that it was ridiculous to get distracted by a touch to her hand through two layers of gloves.

Adora climbed into the driver's seat. "You comfortable? Are you warm enough? Don't forget your seatbelt."

"Adora, are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"You're just acting really weird…"

"No, I am not acting weird! Are you sure you're warm enough?"

Celeste and her roommates lived in a brick house with a tiny yard, currently covered in Christmas lights. There were people laughing and drinking out front as Catra and Adora approached—Adora insisted on helping her down from the truck—and a muted thump of music from inside. Catra wondered if the neighbors would get the party shut down, or if everything was fair game until midnight.

"You're not actually invited to this party," Catra said as she knocked on the front door.

But Adora was already talking over her without noticing. "So… does Perfuma know?"

"Know what?"

"I guess she's got to know, right?"

"Know _what?"_

The door opened, releasing a wave of music and voices. "Catra!" Celeste crowed, pulling them inside. "Come in, come in! Hey everyone, Catra and her fiancee are here!"

Adora went wide-eyed and tried to turn back for the door. Too late; Celeste and a roommate were divesting her of her coat and peppering her with questions. Catra supposed she could have come to her rescue. Instead, she grabbed Scorpia, who had barely opened her mouth to greet her, and dragged her through the crowd over to the refreshment table.

"Wow," Scorpia said, staring over her shoulder, "coma girl is looking good!"

"That's not her! That's Adora!" Catra shouted over the music.

Scorpia squinted across the room. "Oh, you're right, that's not her at all. That's Adora? Your sister?"

"Former foster sister. Now she's Perfuma's sister."

_"Perfuma's_ the girl in the coma. Princess Charming."

"Yes."

"So why did you bring Adora?"

"I didn't bring her, she followed me here."

"So Adora's your fiancee?"

"No, Perfuma!"

"Perfuma doesn't even know you exist!"

"I know!"

"So Adora is Princess Charming."

"…Yeah." It was terrifying to say out loud, like jumping out of an airplane.

"Catra."

"Yeah?"

"They have _doctors_ for this kind of thing!"

Catra glared at Scorpia, who just shook her head and let herself be pulled away by someone else trying to talk to her. Catra turned to the refreshment table and dipped herself a cup of punch.

"That's spiked," Adora said, coming up behind her.

"Thank God."

"You shouldn't have any."

Catra took a huge swallow. "Why not?"

"Because," Adora shouted, directly into a lull between songs, twice as loud as anything else in the room, " _it's not good for the baby!_ "


	15. Chapter 15

Catra marched down the sidewalk with her arms folded and teeth clenched, paying no attention to the woman trying to keep up with her.

"Catra! Wait! Ugh, slow down a little!"

If anything, Catra walked faster. But Adora inevitably caught up, panting and grabbing her shoulder.

"Catra, I'm _sorry_ , it was just a misunderstanding—"

"A misunderstanding," Catra repeated. "Yeah, you misunderstood _a lot of things_ if you thought it was okay to announce to all my friends and coworkers that I was pregnant! Especially a pregnancy that you made up in your own head!"

They'd drawn quite a crowd at the party, with Catra's bewildered and increasingly furious denials and Adora's stammered attempts to explain. Catra could still see Scorpia's eyebrows trying to rise into space—oh, what she must have thought—and Celeste, Catra was quite sure, was still half-convinced she had a bun in the oven. At least half the party-goers thought Adora was her fiancee, the other half thought she was Catra's sister, and no one had tried to stop either of them when Catra stormed out with Adora trailing behind.

"Look," Adora said, "none of this went the way I intended—"

"Which road is it that's paved with good intentions?" Catra started walking again, rounding the corner into the apartment complex courtyard.

"Catra, please just let me apologize!"

"Go away, Adora."

The courtyard was full of New Year's merrymakers, wearing party hats and plastic glasses, laughing and shouting and drinking. Several people were dancing on the deck of Sea Hawk's beached boat.

"Did I hear Catra's dulcet tones?" called a familiar voice, and Catra looked up to see Sea Hawk himself peering over the rail at them. "Here they are! Come see, O siren of my heart!"

Mermista, _Mermista Queen_ , joined him at the rail and hooked her arm through his.

"Ugh, finally!" she called.

"What are you doing here?" Adora demanded.

"Mom sent me to find you when you didn't come back."

"And I will forever be grateful you were not here when she arrived," Sea Hawk said, turning to take her hand between both of his, "else I might never have met the saltwater goddess before me."

"You're ridiculous," Mermista said, rolling her eyes. But she didn't pull her hand away. "Anyway, what do I tell Mom and Dad? Are congratulations in order?"

"Definitely not!" Catra snarled.

"Cool! That's all I needed to know." With that, Mermista dragged Sea Hawk away from the rail and toward the rickety refreshment table set up on the other end of the deck.

"Well, that's… happening, apparently," Adora said, staring after them.

Catra took advantage of the distraction to make for the door, but Adora caught up, ducking into the stairwell before the door closed behind her.

"Catra, are you really not even going to let me explain?"

Catra spun around, two steps above Adora, and snapped, "You already explained. Apparently, in your family, when an eleven-year-old eavesdrops and repeats hearsay she doesn't understand, you just take it as truth."

"I didn't have any reason to doubt her!"

"Because of course the only reason your sister would want to marry someone like me is if I was pregnant. Right?"

"No," Adora said, and Catra could hear the lie plain as day. It felt like a knife.

"Goodnight, Adora," she said coldly, and continued up the stairs.

"It's just—you're really not Perfuma's type at all!" Adora said desperately.

In spite of herself, Catra turned around again. "Yeah? Whose type am I?"

Adora didn't answer.

"Thank you for that. I had a lousy Christmas, Adora. You just managed to kill my New Year's. You wanna come back on Valentine's Day and burn down my apartment?"

"Hey, come on, Catra—" Adora caught at her arm as she tried to turn away.

Catra spun. "What do you _want_ from me, Adora?"

"I just… want you to be happy."

"And what, you're the expert on what will make me happy? You think announcing a false pregnancy to my friends will make me happy? Are _you_ happy, Adora?" To her horror, Catra felt tears prickling in her eyes. "Are you happy in the life you _left me_ for? Are you happy selling furniture and doing everything you're told and having nothing and no one of your own?"

Adora looked like she'd been punched in the gut.

Catra felt, distantly, that she shouldn't be letting the conversation careen off a cliff like this, but now that it was happening she didn't know how to stop. She took a step down toward Adora, sacrificing most of the height advantage just to be closer, and tried not to let on that she was shaking.

"I know that's not fair," she said hoarsely. "I know that you _are_ happy, mostly. Maybe your life isn't perfect, but you have a real home and enough food and a slightly bonkers family that loves you. Which is a whole lot more than I have, for all that I've told myself my life is just the way I want it. And I've been so angry at you for so long—and maybe I still am! But... if you had to leave me to be happy… how can I ever say I loved you, if I would rather you'd stayed and been miserable with me? And I did love you more than anything in the world, Adora. I would have died for you without hesitation." _I still would_. That realization shook her to the core. She hadn't intended to say _any_ of this.

Adora's face was streaked with tears. "I can't be sorry I got out, Catra, I can't! But I would have done anything to take you with me. If I could change one thing about my whole life, I would take you with me."

A couple floors above them, someone had their door open, TV blaring into the stairwell. "Oh, hey, the ball's dropping!" yelled someone from inside.

Catra smiled unsteadily. "I know it doesn't matter now, but I had a plan, the year you left. On New Year's Eve, I was going to take you up on the roof to look for fireworks, just the two of us. And at midnight, I was going to kiss you. But you were gone by then. You were gone."

"Catra…" Adora looked stunned, disbelieving—but not in a bad way. She came up onto Catra's step, forcing her to shift toward the wall, heart pounding.

"Ten! Nine!" Shouts echoed through the stairwell. "Eight! Seven!"

Adora leaned closer, touching their foreheads together.

"Six! Five! Four!"

Adora's hands were cold on either side of her face. Catra ripped her gloves off to mirror the gesture, fingertips whispering across Adora's cheeks.

"Three! Two! One! MIDNIGHT!"

Their lips met.

So warm, Adora's mouth was _so warm_ , pressing soft and delicate against hers, and Catra's whole world narrowed to that sweet pressure, to Adora's scent and her fingers curling into Catra's hair. Every movement was like honey, slow molten gold. It was the first kiss of her life that had made her feel something besides an awkward desire for it to be over already. She didn't want this one to ever be over.

Then Catra scraped Adora's lips with her teeth, just a little, and Adora made the tiniest desperate noise in the back of her throat, and warmth became scorching heat. Catra felt her back hit the wall of the stairwell. One of her hands had drifted down to Adora's throat, where she could feel her pulse throbbing. They were both wearing _far_ too much clothing, Catra wanted to feel Adora's hands on her everywhere, wanted to feel the weight of her and sink her nails into skin.

Adora pulled back for the briefest possible moment—only long enough to tilt her head the other way, before diving back in with twice as much urgency, as if she had to have Catra from every possible angle. Catra wrapped her arms around Adora's neck and hoisted herself up; Adora caught and held her effortlessly, pressed to the wall with her legs around Adora's waist.

Her apartment was just a few steps away. Catra doubted her ability to get the door unlocked right now, but maybe Adora could just kick it in. She didn't care if she had to pay for it, she didn't care about anything but getting herself and Adora onto a horizontal surface together, finally, _finally_ —

Adora broke the kiss with a gasp, ducking her head when Catra tried to follow her mouth.

"Oh, God, we can't," Adora panted, "we can't do this, you're engaged—to my _sister_ —"

Catra, already dizzy with lack of breath, felt her throat try to close up entirely. "Right," she said painfully. "I'm marrying Perfuma."

"I'm sorry." Adora set Catra unsteadily back down onto her feet. "This was just… for old time's sake. I shouldn't have started it. I'm sorry."

"Don't say that," Catra whispered. They were still tangled around each other, foreheads touching, breathing each other's breath.

"I didn't mean anything by it," Adora said, which felt a lot like being stabbed. "It won't happen again. Perfuma doesn't need to know, right? Please don't tell Perfuma."

"Definitely not." Hysterical laughter was trying to bubble up Catra's throat.

"Okay. I…" Adora seemed to cycle through several things she might say, before settling on a simple, "Goodnight, Catra." Awkwardly, she squeezed Catra's hand—and left, thumping down the stairs and out the door with a great deal more force than necessary.

Catra unlocked her apartment with trembling hands, and slid down the door to sit with her knees pulled up to her chest. The hysterical laughter won, then, coming in waves until her eyes streamed and her stomach ached. Melog watched with his head cocked in concern.

"She didn't mean anything by it," Catra told him, voice bitter as smoke. "It won't happen again."

Ten years late, Catra had finally gotten what she wanted—and the very lie that had brought her and Adora back together was also going to keep them apart.

***

On the other side of town, as the nurses at their station clinked glasses and sang _Auld Lang Syne_ , Perfuma Queen opened her eyes.


	16. Chapter 16

"Micah!" Catra hurried over to the familiar face she'd spied by the hospital elevator. "What's going on? The message just said to come to the hospital—"

Micah was grinning from ear to ear. "Perfuma's awake!"

Catra froze, her stomach going into freefall. Her first instinct was to run away, but she only fell back a step before Micah caught her arm.

"Boy will she be glad to see you!" he grinned, misinterpreting her shock.

"Yeah," Catra said faintly, and let him hustle her into the elevator.

Maybe this was good, she told herself. Scorpia and Bow had both said that once Perfuma woke up, the lie wouldn't matter so much. Everyone would be too happy about Perfuma to care. And Perfuma—from all the stories everyone had told about her this week, she really was as sweet and kind as Catra had always thought. Maybe she wouldn't be too mad. Maybe it would be a relief to let the truth come out. Maybe everything would be okay.

Maybe it would rain gumdrops and a flying unicorn would come take her away. Oh, this was going to be a catastrophe, but she couldn't think of any way out of it.

The rest of the family was gathered around the owlish little doctor, outside Perfuma's room. The sight of Adora stopped Catra in her tracks for a moment, but Adora was very carefully not looking at her—only one sideways glance under her lashes before she turned rapt attention back to the doctor. Catra joined the crowd as far away from her as she could.

"Right now Perfuma's only able to stay awake for short periods," the doctor was saying. "This isn't unusual; coming out of a coma is often a longer process than it looks on TV. She's easily tired out at this stage, and you'll need to let her rest and not try to keep her awake. The good news is, when she is awake she does seem to be perfectly lucid. If everyone's here now, we can go on in."

Catra looked longingly toward the exit sign as they all filed into Perfuma's room, but it was too late—she was swept in with the crowd.

Perfuma was sleeping as they gathered around the bed, all—Catra counted—ten of them. She actually looked _asleep_ , rather than unconscious; a happy change, though it was hard to put a finger on the difference.

"Perfuma, wake up," the doctor said, shaking her shoulder gently. "Your family's here."

"Oh!" Perfuma opened her eyes, and Micah burst into tears.

"Oh, Dad," Perfuma said drowsily, reaching out a hand, which Micah wrapped tightly in his. "Hi, Daddy, it's good to see you! Hi, Mom! Hi, Adora. Hi, Glimmer." She continued around the circle, slurring and sleepy but smiling.

And then she got to Catra.

"Hi," she said cheerfully. "Who are you?"

No one answered, all the smiles in the room shifting to confused frowns.

Perfuma looked momentarily concerned, before her gaze lost focus and she went back to sleep.

Every eye in the room was on Catra now.

_Here it comes_ , Catra thought, wishing she could sink through the floor.

"Oh my god," Micah said, sounding heartbroken. "Perfuma has amnesia!"

***

"Lacunar amnesia is a condition in which memory loss is localized and patchy," said the owlish doctor, "limited to isolated events."

"Selective amnesia?" Angella said skeptically.

The doctor spread his hands. "I've seen head injuries do stranger things, to be honest."

Catra had taken up a position at the back of the waiting room where the Queens were gathered, mashing her face against a doorframe as if she might disappear into it.

"Hey," she said, gathering every bit of courage she had. "I'm sorry, I—I need to tell you guys something really important." She took a deep breath. "I was never—"

"Pregnant?" Glimmer said. "We know, Mermista told us."

"I'm sorry, again, about all that," Adora said, looking anywhere but at Catra.

"Me too," Frosta said, grimacing.

A nurse—good old Nurse Swift, actually, the one who had accidentally gotten her into this mess—poked his rainbow head in. "Excuse me, doctor? She's awake again."

The family hurried toward Perfuma's room. Catra hung back, and grabbed Bow's arm.

"Bow!" she hissed. "This is ridiculous, there's nothing wrong with Perfuma—come on, we have to tell them."

"Let me handle it," Bow said, grasping her shoulders reassuringly. "I have a plan."

"Bow, Catra, aren't you coming?" Frosta called.

"On our way!"

When Catra and Bow swung into Perfuma's room, Granny Razz was in the midst of telling her something about an enchanted forest, which Perfuma listened to with charming enthusiasm.

"Here she is," Adora interrupted, turning to gesture at Catra. "Do you remember her now? You barely saw her before you fell asleep…"

Perfuma looked at Catra for a moment, her expression pleasant and a little embarrassed. "Um… should I?"

"Look closely," Micah said.

Catra felt her smile becoming an awkward rictus.

"She looks a little familiar," Perfuma said. It was hard to say whether she meant it, or was just being polite. "Why?"

"I think it's coming back," Micah murmured to Angella.

"Yes, maybe so!" she replied.

"W-what's coming back, guys, tell me!"

"You have amnesia," Entrapta announced.

"I do?" Perfuma looked gobsmacked.

Angella took her hand. "Perfuma, darling, you're engaged."

"To who?"

"To _Catra!"_ Frosta shouted, looking distraught.

"Who's Catra?"

"I don't think it's coming back yet," Angella murmured to Micah.

Nurse Swift came through the door with a tray. "Hey! Got some jello for Miss Perfuma here!"

"Do I like jello?" Perfuma asked weakly.

"Yum!" Micah gave her two thumbs up.

"I think Perfuma's had enough excitement for now," the doctor said. "Let's let her eat and rest."

Of course everyone had to hug Perfuma before they went, which was quite the assembly line, and Micah got teary again, with Angella valiantly pretending not to do likewise. Catra managed to slip out the door, dragging Bow with her.

"Bow, what are we going to do?" she hissed.

"Don't worry, I'm on it! I'm going to take care of everything."

"When, my golden anniversary?"

"Tonight."

"No, right now!"

"Tonight! I have a plan, Catra!"

Then the rest of the family was coming out, the whole herd drifting toward the elevator.

Angella took Catra's hand. "Oh, Catra, I know this must be upsetting. Everything's going to be all right, I know it."

"Yeah," Catra managed. "Yeah, I'm sure everything's going to be fine."

Perfuma, left alone, touched the band-aid on her forehead nervously.

"A B C D E F G…?"

***

At her parents' suggestion—which was to say, insistence—Adora drove Catra home from the hospital. She was the only one with room in her vehicle.

Neither of them said a word for the entire drive. Adora, for one, was too full of wildly competing feelings to have any idea what to say. She was overjoyed that Perfuma was awake, worried about her memory loss, aching for the pain Catra had to be in, watching her fiancee blankly ask who she was…

And then there was the other ache. Every time she glanced sideways toward Catra, every time Catra shifted or made the slightest noise, Adora tightened her hands on the wheel, remembering pressing her against the stairwell wall, remembering the soft warmth of her mouth. But she had to keep the lid tightly screwed down on all of that.

The truck came to a stop at the curb outside Catra's apartment building. Adora turned off the ignition, and for a moment they both sat in silence, not looking at each other, listening to the ticking of the engine.

"Well," Catra said finally. "Thanks for the ride. I really couldn't afford another cab."

"Of course. Anything I can do to make things easier." Adora felt a fresh surge of sour guilt. Catra had had enough emotional turmoil going on even before Perfuma woke up, and of course Adora had to make everything worse. Catra had just been trying to work out some of their old issues, Adora was certain she hadn't meant to provoke… an overture from Adora.

_She kissed you back_ , pointed out a little voice in the back of Adora's mind. _With enthusiasm. I don't think she wrapped her legs around your waist just to be polite_.

_She was stressed out and lonely,_ Adora snarled at that treacherous little voice. _Her fiancee was in a coma and might never wake up, and you took advantage of that!_

Catra cleared her throat. "So, starting tomorrow, things are going to be… different." She looked down at her lap, fidgeting with her nails. "Whatever happens," had her voice just broken?, "I want you to know I'm really glad we were able to… be friends again."

_Friends_. That word had never been painful before. Adora tried to lighten the mood. "You're glad I could accuse you of lying to everyone? Of having a relationship with Sea Hawk? Or glad I could mistakenly think you were pregnant and announce it to all your friends?"

"You've had a busy week," Catra admitted, with that same old sly smile, that challenging look—Catra had never been one to let her get away with anything.

_I love her_ , Adora thought helplessly, the first time she'd let herself even think it—and she hadn't meant to let herself now.

She was still floored by the idea that Catra had had… feelings, like that, for her, back when they were young. If anyone had asked, she wouldn't have said she felt that way for Catra—but she knew, down to her bones, that if she'd still been there that New Year's Eve, if Catra had kissed her like she planned, she would have kissed her back. It would have changed her life.

But it was too late, years too late. Catra and Perfuma were in love now, wanted to spend their lives together. Adora could never be the kind of person who tried to mess that up.

Catra was getting out of the truck. "Catra," Adora blurted, grabbing her arm.

Catra turned back, waiting.

"I didn't mean what I said," Adora said. "About you and Perfuma not being a good match. I think you two are going to make a really terrific couple, and I'm really glad you found each other."

Catra looked on the verge of tears. Oh, what had Adora done wrong? But she didn't say anything, just nodded, got out of the truck and shut the door.

Adora drove away before she had to tell any more gut-wrenching lies.

***

Late in the evening, Bow ducked into Perfuma's hospital, a potted azalea in his arms.

"Hey! Are you awake?" he called softly. "I noticed some of your flowers were getting wilted," the family had, of course, filled the room with plants, "so I brought these."

"Oh, Bow, how lovely!" Perfuma shifted in the bed, sitting up straighter. She'd stuck a fallen begonia bloom behind her ear and was reading a dated-looking magazine. "Set it right here where I can see it. I'm so glad you came by. Having the whole family here was pretty overwhelming, but it's awfully lonely by myself."

Bow got the plant settled and sat down beside the bed. "We've tried not to leave you alone much, even when you weren't awake. I don't guess you remember hearing us talk to you?"

Perfuma shook her head sadly. "Not the only thing I don't remember, apparently."

"I wanted to talk to you about that, actually. About Catra."

"Yeah, Catra…" Perfuma's brow furrowed. "Am I really engaged to her?"

"Well, that's exactly what I wanted to talk about. Perfuma…" Bow took a deep breath, taking Perfuma's hand comfortingly. "I think you should break up with Catra."

"Why?" Perfuma looked distressed. "You don't like her? Does the family not like her?"

"No, the whole family loves her! We all think she's great. Prickly, sometimes—but no, we love her."

"Then what's wrong with her?"

"There's nothing wrong with her! I just… I don't think it's fair, under the circumstances. Keeping her tied to someone who doesn't even remember her."

"But my memory might come back... It hasn't even been a day." Perfuma bit her lip. "I don't want to act too fast."

"That's ironic," Bow said with a small laugh. "Because what's fast is how quickly you _got_ engaged to Catra. You two only met in September. No one wants to say it, but… we can all see that it's a bad match. You're not really suited to each other, you don't really _know_ each other—and now you don't even remember her. How long can you justify keeping Catra hanging in limbo, clinging to a three-month relationship, when your memory might never return? Having you in a coma, not knowing if you would ever wake up—it's been really hard on her, and now this is even worse. I think you need to let her go."

Perfuma was silent a long minute, thinking this through.

"Bow," she said at last, "I know you wouldn't say any of this lightly. I know it must be what you really believe." He twitched oddly at this, but she didn't seem to notice. "But if I did something as crazy as getting engaged to someone in less than three months… it had to have been because I _knew_ , we both _knew_ , that we were meant to be together. That we were soulmates." She smiled, wondering and a little teary. "Gosh, I must love her so much, if I could just remember it. And I know I've put her through a lot in the last week, but surely breaking up with her would be the worst way to make up for that! No, I love her, I'm sure of it. Everything will work out if I just follow my heart."

She sagged back in the bed, eyelids drooping. "I finally found my soulmate, Bow. Catra… what's her last name?" She giggled.

"Um… Weaver."

"Catra Weaver. My fiancee." Smiling dreamily, Perfuma reached up to touch an azalea, and drifted off to sleep.

"Well," Bow murmured, "that didn't go the way I hoped..."


	17. Chapter 17

Adora woke to the sound of Frosta and Entrapta chasing each other up and down the hallway outside her bedroom door, shrieking and shouting. She groaned and pulled her pillow down over her head—but she was smiling while she did it. It was nice having everyone home for the holidays. Crazy, but nice.

There'd been a painful empty space where Perfuma should be, in the days before Christmas—a space then made even worse by Perfuma being _in a coma_. Now it felt like the whole family had heaved a sigh of relief, tension bleeding out of the house. Perfuma was okay. Her head was still a little rattled, maybe, but she was alive and herself, plus or minus a little bit of amnesia.

Catra had helped fill that scary empty spot, during the worst days—Perfuma's rescuer and dearest love, an odd sort of placeholder. But quicker than Adora could have expected, Catra had become something else, too, forming a space of her own. Maybe it had been good for everyone, getting to know Catra without Perfuma around; they'd formed their own relationships with her, independent of who she was marrying.

Catra snarked with Mermista, teased and poked with Glimmer, listened to Entrapta prattle about tech with what seemed to be actual interest, indulgently let Frosta treat her like a cool new toy to play with. Micah and Angella were inclined to adopt—literally or not—any under-cherished person who came within their range, and it was clear to Adora they'd decided Catra deserved and needed their love. Even Granny Razz had accepted Catra as part of the clan without question, which was notable considering it had taken her months to remember who Adora was after she joined the family. (Apparently Adora bore a striking resemblance to some old friend of hers named 'Mara.') More than one member of the family had recently joked that they got a new sister for Christmas and when were Mom and Dad gonna get the papers together?

Of course, in Adora's case, developing a relationship with Catra without Perfuma around had turned out to be a really _bad_ idea…

Enough of that train of thought. Adora sat up and scrubbed her hands through her hair. Sleeping in was nice, but she ought to get downstairs and spend time with the family. Now that Christmas and New Year's were over, people were going to start splitting up again—Mermista and Entrapta going back to their separate homes, Frosta and Glimmer back into classes, even Bow back to his job. In fact, it was probably time for Adora and her dad to get back to work, too; Micah might well have some furniture-related assignment for her when she got downstairs.

The thought made her want to crawl back into bed, or maybe even under it.

_"Are you happy in the life you left me for?"_ Catra had asked. _"Are you happy selling furniture and doing everything you're told and having nothing and no one of your own?"_

Neither fair nor accurate, as Catra herself had acknowledged, and yet—not entirely without truth.

Adora looked around her bedroom, all but unchanged from when she was sixteen. The same twin bed, neatly-kept desk, half-empty bookshelf. She'd never let her sports equipment get gross or messy, and even that was gone now, put away when she graduated. She knew her room looked bare compared to the other girls', but that was okay. She wasn't going to feel bad about having a neat, efficient space. But she knew this was the room of a little girl trying to please her new parents. It always had been. Was that what it always would be? Was that going to be her life? Alone, without comforts, calcified into a role as The Dutiful Daughter?

While Perfuma married Catra, built a home and a family, had children for Adora to play spinster aunt for?

There were a lot of things Adora couldn't have. But there were also things she _could_. If she was brave enough.

*

Adora found Micah in his office—thus avoiding the chaos of the breakfast table—eating a bowl of bran flakes and reading the obituaries.

"About time to get back in the saddle," he sighed. "We missed a lot of good stuff the day after Christmas. Ooh, what's this?"

"My hidden stash." Adora leaned over his shoulder to pour Lucky Charms into his bowl. "Don't tell Mom."

"Scout's honor!" He dug into the marshmallow cereal with a will. "Now _that's_ the way to start the day."

Adora laughed and pulled a second chair up to the desk, eating cereal from the box with her hands.

"Old Mrs. Fletcher finally went," Micah said. "Her dining room set is probably worth forty grand all by itself. I heard the McMurphy boys have been up there already, pushy lowlifes that they are. We'll call the Fletchers next week, when they've had a chance to breathe."

"Sounds good."

Micah sat back and sighed. "It has sure has been a week, hasn't it? You know, as a parent, you… you work hard, you try to provide for everyone, you try to keep track of everything and meet everyone's needs… and for one minute, everything's good. Everyone's well, everyone's happy, and for that one minute, you have peace." He nodded to himself, satisfied.

Then his head tilted, eyes narrowing as he took in Adora's expression. "But this isn't that minute, is it?" he said thoughtfully. He reached for her hand. "What's the matter, Adora?"

Adora took a deep breath. "Dad, you remember how I used to be in the junior firefighters program?"

"Sure I do. You had a blast with that. Very good at it, too, from what your instructors said. I was always a little surprised you didn't decide to go into it for real."

Adora blinked at this. "Well, I… I couldn't, obviously. I mean, there was no way I'd have time for that _and_ helping you with the business."

"I guess it's too bad we don't live somewhere with a volunteer fire department. Maybe you could have kept your hand in. But of course a place like Chicago can't run on volunteers."

"Yeah. I… I can't really have it both ways, unfortunately. I had to pick one." Oh, she couldn't do this. She couldn't look her dad in the eye and say she'd picked wrong.

Micah's voice was gentle, and he was still holding her hand. "Sweetheart, what are you trying to tell me?"

"I want to be a firefighter," Adora whispered. "I never stopped wanting to be a firefighter, but you needed me with the business and I know you still do and I don't want to abandon you!" She'd done enough abandoning people who loved and needed her; Catra's face was like a knife in her memory. "But I can't—I can't spend my whole life like that, it feels like having my leg in a trap—no, no, I don't mean that, I didn't mean to say that—"

"Adora!" Micah pulled her closer, put an arm around her shoulders. "Oh, honey, why didn't you say something? I thought you _wanted_ the business!"

"I did, I—I wanted to help you, and I—it felt really good being… the one you trusted, the one who could take on the responsibility and carry on the tradition, I didn't _lie_ , I just…"

Micah sighed heavily. "You were doing your duty. Which you do enjoy, in a way, but… selling furniture is not your calling. Oh, I should have seen it, Adora. I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything wrong!"

"I'll tell you what I did wrong. I turned down your Aunt Casta last month when she offered to buy the whole business for twice what it's worth, that's what I did wrong. I could have taken your mother on a cruise!"

Adora stared. Micah's eyes were twinkling, his arm holding her warm and secure against his side.

"You're not mad at me?" she said.

"Are you nuts? You _are_ nuts, you want to run into burning buildings! Your worrywart mother's going to hit the ceiling, you know."

Adora grimaced, and then they were both laughing. Micah pressed a kiss to the top of her head before releasing her and reaching for the Lucky Charms again.

***

"Six, twelve, twenty-nine," Perfuma recited. "Eighth grade locker combination. Elementary school teachers: Dresbach, Hartridge, Taylor, McCabe, Thomas, Hodges, Tappan."

Her mother sighed. "Perfuma…"

"Apple varietals," Perfuma said. "Red Delicious, Gala, Fuji, McIntosh, Braeburn, Pink Lady, Granny Smith, Golden Delicious—"

"You have to remember Catra!" Frosta threw down the stack of family birthday flashcards Perfuma had already passed with flying colors.

"You love her!" Angella insisted. "You just… don't remember."

"But I remember everything else!" Perfuma cried, frustrated. "Everything but Catra. Well, that and the day of the accident—I don't remember any of that. But Dr. Kowl said that was normal."

"Dr. Kowl also said head injuries are unpredictable, and this sort of thing has happened to people before," Angella reminded her.

"I know you'll remember if you keep trying," Frosta said. "You can't have forgotten her, deep down. It was love at first sight, Catra said, and then getting engaged right away because you just _knew_ , and then she risked her life to save you—it's the most romantic story in the whole world!"

"Wait, what?" Perfuma looked from her sister to her mother. "Catra risked her life…?"

"Heavens, didn't we tell you?" Angella said. "When you fell off the platform, there was a train coming right at you. Catra jumped onto the tracks and pulled you out of the way. Only barely in time, as I understand it." She shuddered. "Getting the phone call that you were in the hospital on Christmas morning was terrifying—but I can't bear to think about the call I could have gotten instead."

"She jumped in front of a train for me?" Perfuma felt her spirit soar, stunned and elated. So Catra wasn't just her fiancee, but her guardian angel! They were soulmates, they had to be. She'd already known Bow had to be wrong, but now she had proof.

"Hey." As if summoned by Perfuma's thoughts, Catra stood shyly in the doorway, carrying a cardboard box. "I, uh, I brought your stuff. Your coat and your purse… oh, and Spinnerella came and got her cat. She'll probably be coming to visit you soon, she hadn't heard… Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm just happy to see you," Perfuma said. "Come sit down!"

Angella nudged Frosta. "We'll let you two have some time to yourselves."

"Oh, that's… not… I mean, thanks…" Catra waved awkwardly at them as they left, then took the seat beside Perfuma's bed, setting the box down on the floor.

"Um," Catra said after a moment's awkward silence, "have you… seen Bow today?"

"No, not today," Perfuma said, deciding not to mention his strange and appalling suggestion the night before. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing, I just… wanted to ask him something." Catra gave a strained smile and busied herself taking off her gloves and tucking them into her purse.

"Are you getting along all right with the family?" Perfuma asked. "I know they can be a lot. I'm sorry I wasn't, um, able to introduce you properly."

"Hardly your fault." Catra gestured vaguely at the medical equipment.

"They seem to really like you, though! Of course they would, with Adora to vouch for you—I heard you two were fostered together for a while, as kids?"

Catra swallowed. Poor thing, she seemed to have a very nervous personality. "Yeah, it's… been great to see her again. I've missed her over the years."

Perfuma beamed. "How lovely that the universe brought you back together! Just when you needed a friend the most, I imagine."

"Yeah, it was, um, interesting timing."

"Of course I've missed Adora, too, and the whole family," Perfuma said, "these last few months, trying to make it on my own… I admit I haven't missed the chaos, though. There's not a lot of peace and harmony in the Queen household. As I'm sure you've noticed," she added apologetically.

Catra looked surprised. "Well… yeah, you're not wrong. I kinda love it, though. At least it's _happy_ chaos. I grew up in more of an 'iron control' situation. Lots of rules, lots of tension."

Perfuma bit her lip. "I'm sorry. I'm sure you've told me all about that, if only I could remember."

"No… not really. I don't like to talk about it."

A short silence. Perfuma took her first really close look at her fiancee, at the face that was supposed to be so dear to her. Catra was beautiful, that was for sure; warm amber skin with a delightful spray of freckles, a wild mane of dark hair, her build tiny and delicate like a dancer—and of course those dramatic mismatched eyes, one blue and one so pale a green as to be almost gold. She did look a little bit familiar, maybe? Perfuma didn't _know_ her face like she should have, but she did feel like she might have seen it before.

Perfuma couldn't help thinking that Catra, attractive as she was, wasn't her type at all. Perfuma had always leaned toward fun, loud, gregarious women, women who were easygoing and cheerful. None of those adjectives seemed to apply to Catra. Catra was awkward, tense, timid.

_Well, of course she is_ , Perfuma thought. _She's in an unthinkable situation here, talking to a fiancee who doesn't remember her_. Poor Catra! She was just a shy, sweet little darling, and Perfuma was filled with an instant, intense desire to take care of her. She pushed her untouched plate of hospital food toward her. "Would you like a sandwich? It looks good, but it's roast beef and I'm a vegetarian."

"Yeah, I remember that," Catra murmured. "I'm fine, though. You really should eat—I can go get you a salad or something?"

"Oh, Mom already did, don't worry."

"Is there anything else you need?"

"I do wish I had my own clothes," Perfuma laughed. "Something prettier than a bathrobe and a hospital gown!"

Catra smiled shyly. "I love that pink sweater you wore a few days before Christmas, the one with the strawberries on it."

"Oh, that's my favorite sweater!" _We're so in sync with each other_ , Perfuma thought happily, _amnesia or not._

A memory suddenly flickered in her mind. Getting dressed on Christmas Day—last chance to wear a Christmas sweater. She'd chosen the one with the little family of snowmen. She'd been headed to Seneschal's for his big Christmas breakfast blowout…

The memory ended there, and the rest of the day was still a blank. That sweater was probably lost, ruined on the tracks or cut off in the emergency room—there was no telling. But it was a small price to pay for her life.

Perfuma leaned forward and kissed Catra on the cheek.

Catra's mouth fell open. "What was that for?"

"For being my hero," Perfuma said. "Saving my life."

Catra's face went red. "It really wasn't that big a deal," she mumbled. "It's not like I could have done anything else."

"Of course you couldn't," Perfuma said. "You have too good a heart, I can tell. The heart of a hero."

"You would have done the same."

"Oh, no." Perfuma shook her head regretfully. "I would have just panicked and frozen up. I've never been very brave or heroic."

"That's not true at all. Some of the things you've been through… And you give up your seat every day on the train."

"Well," Perfuma thought she might be blushing, too. "But that's not heroic."

"It is to the person who sits in it," Catra said. "And you always gave _me_ something to look forward to every day, so…" She trailed off, looking embarrassed. Something about the expression, the way Catra tilted her face away, brought back that feeling of distant familiarity.

"You really do remind me of someone," Perfuma said thoughtfully, then immediately felt silly. "It's probably _you!"_ Laughing, relieved to have made even that tiny bit of progress, she reached for Catra's hand.

Catra gripped back, uncertain but smiling. "Yeah, maybe it is. Are you going to eat those chips?"

"Oh, help yourself!"

They started picking through Perfuma's lunch together, smiling and holding hands.


	18. Chapter 18

Catra found Bow entering the hospital just as she was leaving it.

"There you are! Well?" she demanded, grabbing his arm and dragging him away from the entrance.

"Hey, Catra!" Bow said, much too brightly. "You're looking good! How are you?"

"Still engaged, apparently," Catra said. "Which _you_ assured me you were going to handle. What happened to last night's brilliant plan?"

"It, um, didn't work out so well?" Bow grinned nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "It may have kind of backfired."

"Explain," Catra said between gritted teeth.

"I tried to get Perfuma to break up with you," Bow's voice seemed to rise slightly in pitch with each word, "and ended up somehow convincing her you were soulmates."

Catra dragged her nails down her face, making a strangled noise. "That was your plan? Just dig the hole deeper? You didn't consider, I dunno, telling her the _truth?"_

"It seemed like the perfect solution! Everyone would be happy, nobody would be mad at anyone…" Bow quailed at Catra's expression. "Don't worry, I'll figure something else out—"

"No, for pete's sake, stop helping me! With a friend like you, who needs enemies?" Catra took a deep breath. "I'll handle it myself."

"How?" Bow didn't look dubious so much as concerned.

"I don't know."

"I want to help."

"The best way you can help is to stop helping me. I mean it. Let me handle it myself."

"Okay…" Biting his lip, Bow went inside, and Catra stomped off down the sidewalk toward the train station.

It hadn't exactly been a punishment, hanging out with Perfuma for an hour, even if she'd felt painfully on edge for most of it. Now that Perfuma was awake again, instead of just being a problem-shaped figure in a bed, it was easy to remember why Catra had crushed on her from afar for so long. Perfuma was sweet, pretty, kind, warm, smart in a slightly kooky way…

_And it's not like Adora wants me._ She'd made that clear enough, with her "This was just for old time's sake" and "I didn't mean anything by it."

Catra rubbed absently on the spot on her cheek that Perfuma had kissed, and thought that maybe the best way to handle this was not to do anything at all.

***

"So," Glimmer said, glancing sideways at Adora as they parked in the hospital lot, "how's Catra holding up?"

"Why does everyone act like I'm the official Catra liaison or something?" Adora snapped. "I haven't talked to her today. Why would I?"

"I just… thought you two had gotten close again…?" Glimmer frowned in concern. "Did you have a fight or something?"

_Or something_. As close to the opposite of a fight as it was possible to get, at least with your clothes on. "No, we didn't have a fight, Glimmer," Adora said wearily. "But I'm sure she's not thinking about me very much right now. She's thinking about Perfuma. As she should be."

Adora hoped to heaven Catra wasn't here visiting Perfuma right now. She wasn't sure she could get through watching them together. She'd have to find a way to deal with that, she knew. But not yet. She couldn't do it yet.

Bow was already at Perfuma's room, as they'd expected. What they hadn't expected was to find him and a nurse packing plants and flower vases into a box.

"Moving day!" Bow explained. "Now that Perfuma's awake, they're putting her on the second floor."

"I tried to show Dr. Kowl I could walk," Perfuma sighed, "but I almost fell down. So I have to go in this." She patted the arm of her wheelchair.

"I can push you!" Adora said, eager to be useful. "Nurse, is it okay if I push her?"

"Sure, honey," the nurse said. "I need to get her other stuff anyway. I'll meet you at the elevators."

"And Bow and I will get your plants." Glimmer and Bow picked up boxes.

"Oh, hold up, Adora," Perfuma said as Glimmer and Bow left the room. "I'm getting a bit of a draft here!" She giggled and tried to adjust her bathrobe, which was threatening her with exposure.

Adora leaned down to secure the bathrobe, and slipped a Tofutti Cutie into Perfuma's hand. "I got you some contraband," she stage-whispered.

"Ooh, thank you! My favorite flavor!" Perfuma squealed and unwrapped it as Adora wheeled her toward the elevators. Bow and Glimmer were just disappearing into one. "You just missed Catra. First chance I've had to really talk to her and—wow, she's pretty terrific, isn't she?"

"…Yeah."

"And we're _engaged!"_

"Um. So I hear."

Perfuma took a big bite of her pseudo-ice cream. "Mmm, now this I remember. Gosh, everything is just _better_ now, you know? Everything looks better, feels better. Even this chocolate tofu tastes better!"

"Good," Adora said. "It's wild berry."

"Whatever. I feel like I've been reborn, you know? I've been to the very edge of the mortal experience, and came back. And it's made me realize what was missing in my life."

Adora cocked her head. "Yeah? What's that?"

"Love, Adora, _love!_ Of course I have you guys, the family, and that's been the most amazing gift in my life. But I'm talking about something else—someone to built a life with, have a family of my own with. A relationship that can be…" She gestured inarticulately, expression dreamy. "Intimate on every level—emotional, physical, spiritual—the perfect communion of two souls!"

Adora raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You expect perfect communion from someone you've only had one conversation with? Only one that you remember, anyway?"

"Oh, but it's all going to work out perfectly, Adora, I can feel it! Catra and I are meant to be. And Catra, she's, she's… I don't know how to describe it, but there's really something about her."

"Yeah, there really is," Adora said. The words felt hot and painful, but they demanded release. "She's the most intense person I've ever known. She's tough and—and jagged and thorny because she's always had to be, but she's also so strong and passionate and smart as a whip, she can be so _funny_ and underneath everything she has so much love—"

"Intense?" Perfuma was half-baffled, half-laughing. "Thorny? _Catra?_ Maybe you're remembering how she was as a child or something, but she's not like that now."

Adora stared. "What do you think she's like now?"

"Sweet, shy, delicate! She's like a little lost fawn or something—"

_More like a half-feral alley cat_ , Adora thought.

"—and she needs someone to take care of her," Perfuma said. "I want to just wrap her up in soft blankets and take care of everything she needs so she never has to worry, ever again!"

They had reached the elevators. Adora parked the wheelchair and leaned against the wall, watching Perfuma's rhapsodizing with a deep frown.

It wasn't that Catra didn't need softness and care—she did, desperately. But the _little lost fawn_ Perfuma was describing bore no resemblance to the girl Adora had known all her life, or the older version she'd spent the last week getting to know all over again. If there was one thing Catra needed even more than kindness, it was control, power over what happened to her, command over her own life. The smothering treatment Perfuma seemed to think Catra needed sounded guaranteed to drive her insane.

"I want to buy Catra frilly pink dresses and watch her blush all cutely when she tries them on," Perfuma said giddily. "I want to take her hand and lead her through crowds. And I'm sure I can find a way to make enough money that she can stay home with our kids. She'll be so much happier that way."

Catra wanted to be a housewife like a cat wanted a bath. The only time Ms. Weaver had ever gotten her into a dress, she cut the skirt off in art class and stole a pair of shorts from the lost and found. And the only way she was going to let someone lead her through a crowd like a toddler was if she'd gone suddenly blind.

Perfuma had no idea who Catra really was. And Adora was going to have to watch them get married, knowing it was a horrible mistake for both of them.

Perfuma was still going on dreamily about the perfect life she and Catra were going to have, something about dancing in the moonlight together. Adora's stomach was churning. She turned and walked away before she could say something very ill-advised.

Behind her, Perfuma continued talking to empty air, not realizing Adora was walking away.

"—and we can feed each other oat cakes and drink the milk of human kindness under the stars. It'll be all of our dreams coming true! And it's okay if we don't remember or don't understand, everything will become clear with time and patience and love. Does that make sense?"

"Not really," the nurse said cheerfully, approaching with a cardboard box that she set in Perfuma's lap, "but that's common after a head injury."

Perfuma peered into the box and, with childlike delight, exclaimed "My sweater!" just as Adora turned the corner out of sight.

***

"It's just hard being as popular and loved as I am," Celeste said mock-haughtily.

Catra laughed from the other side of the booth. "Yeah, okay."

"I'm serious! It's stressful!"

"I can't imagine the hardship."

"Okay, but seriously, it's gonna be an interesting night. I guess I have to hope my 7:00 date doesn't go _too_ well or it'll interfere with my 10:00 date!"

"You have no one to blame but yourself for this, Celeste. Why didn't you tell one of them you'd go out on Saturday instead of Friday?"

"Because on Saturday I'm going out with my sister. I told you, I am just in too much demand!"

"At least you have your priorities in order."

"Sisters before misters," Celeste agreed gravely. "Ma'am, don't forget your change!"

"And you really like both these dudes so much that you couldn't say no?"

"I really do! Ain't you ever been in that situation? Torn between two lovely ladies, in your case."

Catra swallowed and didn't answer, instead giving an elderly man's transfer request far more focus than it deserved.

When the customer had gone, Catra drummed her nails on the table a minute before speaking abruptly. "What if you _had_ to choose?"

"What?" Celeste, just wrapping up with her own customer, seemed to take a minute to backtrack into the conversation. "Oh, the dates?"

"Yeah. What if you didn't have two different times to give them, and you had to pick one?"

Celeste shrugged. "I'd pick the one I liked the best, I guess."

"But you like them both equally, you said." Not equally, in Catra's case—she couldn't pretend she liked them equally. But there were so many other factors knotting things up…

Celeste laughed. "Well, then, I'd pick the one who liked _me_ most," she said, as if that were completely obvious.

And well. Maybe it was.

***

No one answered the door at Catra's apartment, so Adora set out for Catra's train station—at least according to Glimmer, and sure enough, she could see Catra inside the little booth as she drew near.

Instead of approaching, though, Adora swerved at the last minute, dropping onto a bench partially obscured by a winter-bare potted bush. Because what, after all, was she doing here? What was she going to say to Catra? "Don't marry my sister, she doesn't understand you like I do"? How was Catra supposed to react to that? Even to Adora's own ears, it sounded like some kind of cringey romance-novel cliché.

_If Catra doesn't want the future Perfuma has planned_ , she told herself, _it's on her to say so. You've done enough to make things harder for her. You need to keep your nose out of it._

Peering past the shrubbery, she watched Catra working. Catra's hands moved swiftly, efficiently, the unhesistating grace of someone so good at—and accustomed to—her job that she didn't need to think about it anymore. She looked over her shoulder and laughed at something her coworker said, rhythm never faltering. Catra had always been quick, skilled, smart—probably smarter than Adora, for all that Ms. Weaver was convinced Adora was better in every way. Catra had always deserved better than how Ms. Weaver treated her. And she deserved more than what she had now, a mindless job that she hated but needed in order to eke out a living.

She deserved to live out every dream she'd had as a child, of being important and respected and prosperous. She deserved to be loved and cared for—not taken care of, that would only put her hackles up, but cared for, given attention and concern, given little thoughtful gestures to make her life easier. Adora wanted to program the car's radio buttons to Catra's favorite stations, wanted to rub the knots out of her shoulders after a long day, wanted to bring her a cup of coffee just the way she liked it before she even asked.

But she would never get to do that. Because Catra was going to marry Perfuma, and eat oat cakes under the moon and wear frilly dresses and stay home with the children, and maybe she would even like doing all those things because she was doing them with Perfuma, who she loved.

Adora had blown her chance long ago, a decade ago. However Catra had felt about her when they were fifteen, she was in love with Perfuma now, and there was nothing Adora could do about that but wish them happiness. Even if she didn't think it was likely they would really find it.

She got off the bench and walked away, not daring to look back.

***

The family brought celebratory Chinese takeout to Perfuma's new hospital room. It was chaos, of course, with Frosta and Glimmer throwing balled-up napkins at each other, Adora and Bow squabbling over the last egg roll, and Entrapta continually pestering Perfuma's poor roommate about his newly-installed pacemaker. Angella and Glimmer got into a fight about table manners and whether she was too old to be grounded, and Mermista only looked up from her new mystery novel when Micah bumped into her from behind and knocked her cup of soda into Perfuma's lap, narrowly missing her plate of moo shu vegetables.

It was the kind of bedlam that used to drive Perfuma quietly nuts, but she didn't mind it so much now. She'd missed it, missed them all. She loved her family to pieces, even when they annoyed her, and wouldn't trade them for anything in the world.

_I am so lucky_ , she thought, not for the first time. _So blessed_. Because of the Queens, who accepted her completely and cared about her happiness, she knew what real love was; because of her birth family, who had rejected her when she wasn't the person they wanted her to be, she knew what it wasn't. The path of her life had been very painful sometimes, but it had taught her, unforgettably, the importance of real love.

Across the room, Perfuma's parents were poking through what remained in the takeout bags, comparing it to the receipt and murmuring to each other about something. Angella said something that made Micah throw his head back and laugh. He pulled her closer and kissed her fondly on the lips. Angella pulled him back in for another kiss—which she used as a distraction to snatch the receipt out of his hand and spin away with it. He pursued with mock outrage.

Perfuma watched with a smile, her heart full. There was more than one kind of love, and Perfuma wanted the kind her parents had. She wanted to walk down the aisle with her soulmate, and share that joy with her family. And she'd just gotten a very dramatic lesson in appreciating the time she had, because 'later' was never guaranteed.

"Fortune cookies!" Frosta announced, passing them out with great ceremony.

Perfuma opened hers eagerly, and read the little slip of paper.

_Love will unexpectedly appear in your life. Don't let it slip away!_

Her heartrate speed up. She was having a potentially brilliant idea.

As if on cue, she heard voices outside her hospital room—"Ah, here we are, sorry nobody told you we moved her"—and Catra appeared in the doorway, holding a single red rose.

"Catra! We weren't expecting you!" Angella said, delighted. "Move over, everyone, make room for Catra."

"Could I speak to Catra alone for a minute?" Perfuma asked.

"Of course!"

"Why?" Frosta demanded, but the others shushed her and chivvied her out.

"Well," Catra said when the room was empty except for the two of them—and Perfuma's elderly roommate, who was valiantly pretending not to eavesdrop. "We do need to talk, actually. About the engagement. I've tried to talk myself into… No, let me back up. Perfuma, I need to tell you something." She took a deep breath. "Geez, I don't know how to start. Look, I know Bow tried to talk you into breaking it off with me—"

"Yes, and he was so wrong to do that! Don't worry, honey, I did not listen to him and I never would." Perfuma took the rose from Catra's hand and set it aside so she could grip both of Catra's hands in hers. "Catra, I know all of this is hard. Me not remembering you must be so painful. But I don't doubt for a minute the beauty of what we have together. When I think of my life before you, all the things I do remember… I was trying so hard to be independent, to do it all on my own, and I see now that all I was really doing was rejecting the love the universe had blessed me with. I don't ever want to do that again."

"I… yeah," Catra said. "Independence is great and all, but… being alone sucks."

"Look what my fortune cookie said today." Perfuma handed the little paper to Catra.

"'Love will unexpectedly appear in your life,'" Catra read. "'Don't let it slip away.'"

"You were very unexpected for me," Perfuma said, beaming. "But I don't ever want to let love slip away. I want to seize the opportunities I have, while I can. Tomorrow is never guaranteed, after all. I've certainly gotten a hard lesson in that."

"Seize the opportunities you have," Catra repeated in a thoughtful murmur.

"Did you know they have a chapel right here in the hospital? And there are chaplains here all the time, all kinds of different faiths. I don't know if you have a preference?"

Catra stared at her. "What are you getting at?"

Perfuma struggled out of the bed. She still couldn't walk very well, but all she needed for this was a controlled fall—yes, like that. Onto one knee.

"Miss Queen!" A nurse with rainbow-colored hair, seeing her out of bed, started to dash in—but froze in the doorway at the realization of what was happening.

"Catra Weaver," Perfuma said, taking Catra's hand, "I want to marry you here, now, as soon as possible. Will you marry me?"

Catra's mouth fell open. And behind her, the nurse clapped both hands over his mouth before falling over in a dead faint.

"Swifty? You okay?" cried another nurse, rushing to his side.

Catra took a couple of uncertain steps back and forth between Perfuma and the collapsed nurse, looking confounded. Finally, with other people attending to the inexplicable nurse, she turned fully toward Perfuma, and her spine straightened.

"Yes," she said. "I'll marry you."


End file.
